


The Arrangement

by cmere



Category: Red White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston
Genre: Alternate Universe - Escorts, Anal Sex, Angst and Feels, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anticapitalist Alex, D/s themes, Dirty Talk, Edging, Face-Fucking, Felching, Happy Ending, I thought it was gonna be angstier, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Oral Sex, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Rimming, Rough Oral Sex, Sex Work, Smut, Spanking, Undernegotiated Kink, and not always soft, but Alex is an escort, but every time I get these two in a room together, henry's still a prince, it turns soft as fuck, just a heads up :D, okay i've been informed this fic is actually quite angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:21:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 58,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26435572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cmere/pseuds/cmere
Summary: “Gran sat me down the day I finished my A levels and made it abundantly clear I was not to let anyone know about any deviant desires I might be beginning to harbor that might reflect poorly upon the crown, and there were appropriate channels to maintain appearances if necessary.”Shaan approaches Henry with a deal from the Queen: agree to an arranged marriage with a woman to flaunt in public, and he can enjoy the services of a male escort in private. Alex comes storming into Henry’s life with sparkling brown eyes, a mischievous smirk, and a challenge, and Henry struggles to maintain control of his emotions as boundaries begin to blur.Alex doesn’t actually care about him; it’s just a job. Right?
Relationships: Alex Claremont-Diaz/Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor, Alex Claremont-Diaz/Liam
Comments: 1126
Kudos: 751





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first multichap I've ever posted, and I'm literally so nervous but excited to share it! It is already written, clocking in at ~56,000 words over 18 chapters, and I'm currently planning to post a chapter every other day (subject to change depending on some things but I'll keep you updated!). There will be various warnings I'll mention at the beginning of relevant chapters and add to tags as we go along, but please be aware that this fic is extremely smutty - it's a sex worker AU after all :) - and delves into consensual D/s themes in the relationship, so if that makes you uncomfortable, get out now!
> 
> I have a whole ass Oscars speech, please bear with me:
> 
> [Kenzi](https://ruhndanaantrash.tumblr.com/), [Kathleen](https://tedddylupin.tumblr.com/), and [Len](https://lennyx.tumblr.com/): My SQUAD! I literally don't know what I would do without you three! Thank you SO much for all the help plotting and planning and brainstorming with me, reading and giving me feedback, listening to me freak out about various things and generally just being the most badass bitches to grace this fandom. ILU all SO much!  
> [Lou](https://lourek.tumblr.com/): Your beta help, feedback, and constant cheerleading and support of this fic means so much to me! Thank you!  
> [shes_gone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shes_gone/pseuds/shes_gone): THANK YOU for reading this over and your amazing feedback! I appreciate you so much!  
> [Sconi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sconelover/pseuds/sconelover): You quite literally have whipped this fic into shape with your stunning beta work and I'm ETERNALLY grateful for your amazing attention to detail, thoughtful and incredible suggestions, and comments that literally make me laugh out loud. THANK YOU SO MUCH!!!!!!!!  
> The entire [RWRB: A Gray Area server](https://discord.gg/25DZeU9): Y'all pump me up way more than I deserve! THANK YOU for being excited for this fic, it made it so much more fun and easy to write!
> 
> Without further ado, the fic! Please enjoy :)

“Your Highness.”

Henry motions for Shaan to enter his office, trepidation crawling up his skin. It’s rare that Shaan requests a formal meeting, and when he does, it never bodes well. He can usually fill Henry in on news and updates over breakfast or lunch or car rides to appearances; him asking to meet Henry in his office means he wants a private, neutral space to break whatever news he’s going to break.

Shaan walks smoothly over to the desk and takes a seat across from Henry, setting down a padfolio. Henry notices his own foot is tapping and immediately stills it. The fact that he was doing it without noticing indicates just how deeply his anxiety is running; that bad habit was beaten out of him by his grandmother as a child.

“How are you this morning, Shaan?” Henry forces himself to sound normal.

“I’m well, thank you. And yourself?”

“Fine. But I’m a little unsure what this meeting is about.”

Shaan nods. Henry has no doubt that Shaan understands exactly how to read his words.

“Let me get straight to the point, then.”

“Please.”

Shaan sits back in his chair and crosses one leg over the other, steepling his fingers in front of him.

“Her Majesty the Queen has asked me to address an issue with you. I’m afraid she thought it would be more palatable coming from me, but I can’t pretend you’re going to be happy about it.”

Henry’s pulse quickens in short order. He nods.

Shaan continues, “The issue of your...relationship status has become noteworthy once again.”

Henry’s eyes fall shut, and he takes in a deep breath. It’s not a surprise, but he thought _maybe_...maybe she’d give him more time to figure out what to do…

“Her Majesty is aware of your hesitance to marry. She is also aware of the reason behind it.”

“I should bloody well hope so, considering I came out to her directly,” Henry snaps, then presses fingers into his forehead. “I’m sorry, Shaan. I know this isn’t your fault.”

“I understand, sir. It’s an...emotional issue. As it stands, she would like to propose an arrangement that will hopefully satisfy all parties involved.”

Henry is instantly suspicious. “What kind of arrangement?” 

“Her Majesty would ask that, within the next year, you publicly court and propose marriage to a woman of suitable nobility and rank that will reflect well on the royal family. Her Majesty has taken into account the fact that you do not believe you could fully invest yourself in such a marriage.” Shaan pauses to take a breath, eyes on Henry. “Therefore, this woman would be aware of all extenuating circumstances and compensated handsomely to allow for you to remain relatively comfortable in private—without the traditional expectations of what a marriage entails—whereas in public, you will be able to satisfy the requirements of your station as a prince.”

Nausea rises further and further up Henry’s throat the longer Shaan speaks. A sham marriage to some poor woman who knows that he’s gay?

“This does include,” Shaan adds, “a minimum of one heir to continue the family name.”

“You can’t be serious,” Henry hisses. “Bring a child into a loveless sham marriage? What kind of trauma would that inflict?”

Shaan takes a moment before speaking again. “In gratitude for your necessary sacrifice to maintain the appearances of the crown, and in understanding of the difficulty of your situation, Her Majesty will permit you to satisfy your own personal needs by means of a royal escort, or companion of sorts.”

The nausea gripping Henry’s throat combines with a hollowed-out feeling in his chest and shakiness in his limbs to create the overall sensation that his body is breaking down. Shaan notices; he produces a bottle of water seemingly from nowhere and hands it to him. Henry’s hands are trembling so severely he can barely open it, but once he does, he takes several slow sips, trying to focus on the sensation of the cold water sliding down his chest, coming to rest in his stomach. It helps him refocus—a little. Enough to at least continue the conversation.

When Henry meets his eyes again, Shaan continues. “The royal staff will select and arrange for you to receive visits from this man as frequently or infrequently as you’d like, on the condition that he remain your escort long-term so as to decrease the possibility of any unseemly information about you becoming public, and for your own safety.”

“Are there any more directives from the queen for you to pass on before we can actually discuss this?” Henry tries not to snap again. He knows Shaan would never choose this life for him if he had any say in it. The queen was right to send him to deliver the news; no other royal staff cares about Henry the way Shaan does, and he can at least take comfort in the fact that Shaan will do everything in his power to help him figure this out.

Shaan flips open the padfolio and runs his finger down a printed memo before closing it again. “No, Your Highness. I can expound on any point if you wish, but that was the general idea.”

“This is absolute fucking insanity,” Henry says, the plastic water bottle crinkling loudly as his fingers tighten around it. He drops it on the desk and grips the solid wood instead, trying to ground himself in something more supportive. “I knew Gran would never approve of me, but I thought— _maybe_ —she’d allow me to just live my life, since she hadn’t brought it up since I came out to her. Of course, she’d never allow for anything other than complete torture.”

“I understand your frustration, Your Highness. If I may, however, I do believe this is her attempt at a compromise.”

“A compromise? You can’t be serious. What on earth do I get out of this arrangement?”

“You get,” Shaan says, “the opportunity for a long-term relationship with someone of your preferred gender who could potentially bring you a lot of happiness.”

Henry is floored. “She’s not offering me the opportunity for a relationship, she’s offering me a fucking prostitute! Why couldn’t I find someone who just likes me, and keep it a secret?”

Shaan pauses, letting out a minute sigh before answering. “Unfortunately, Your Highness, it all boils down to control. In a situation as sensitive at this, we couldn’t take the risk of you trying to find a connection with potentially several men who may end up feeling any number of negative emotions about the situation and do God knows what to damage you, your reputation, or even your health and personal wellbeing.”

Henry wants to protest, but he knows Shaan is right. The few one-time flings he’s had all went south immediately when PPOs and paperwork appeared.

Shaan continues, “Although we’d have legal recourse in such a situation, we can’t take the risk of your safety, or of this information getting out. With a hired professional, he would technically be an employee of the crown, and we’d have an ironclad contract and a number of safety mechanisms in place. Although the risk is still there, it’s much slighter than that of an angry or hurt ex-lover. It’s a job.”

Henry recoils. “It’s disgusting, Shaan.”

“I see why you’d be uncomfortable with it. Obviously, it’s less than ideal. However, I invite you to imagine the possibilities.” 

Henry stares at Shaan, positively gobsmacked that he would try to talk Henry into this. Shaan holds his gaze for a moment before speaking again.

“Do not mistake me, Henry,” he says quietly, his voice betraying just a shred of the emotion he must have been suppressing this entire conversation. “This isn’t the life I want for you. It’s unfair, and it’s wrong. I am on your side, always, and I’m here to serve you. But in the end, I’m also here to serve the crown, and believe me when I say I think this offer might be the best chance at happiness you’re going to get, unless you are prepared to abdicate. If you are, that’s an entirely different conversation. Otherwise, as I said, please take a moment to push past your immediate emotional reaction and imagine the possibilities.”

Henry glares at Shaan, but his words have the desired effect. Henry’s thought about abdicating time and time again, leaving this life behind and pursuing his own, but at what cost? He’d be shunned from the family, lose almost everyone who’s ever meant something to him. On his own, financially independent, still endlessly pursued by the media but without the protection of the crown. It’s a terrifying thought.

He turns to the idea of a marriage. _Imagine the possibilities._ The best case scenario would be marrying someone who could become a good friend. Someone who understands his predicament and genuinely holds zero expectations for him—someone who can accept him as he is. Someone who can perhaps love him, although not romantically. 

His thoughts carry him to hiring an escort, and he squirms.

Henry’s had several fumbling sexual experiences, nothing long-term and nothing really meaningful. Although he dreams of falling in love, it’s always felt as distant a possibility as abdicating. In this case, if he could find someone who enjoyed his company...someone he was attracted to, and someone who felt attraction to him, too...it wouldn’t be love, but it could at least approximate some of the emotions Henry’s always wanted to experience. And if it was someone who stayed with him long-term, hopefully they’d come to know each other well over the years. A companion, as Shaan said.

Henry blows out a long, slow breath, then massages the back of his neck, grimacing at the wall of tension he feels there.

“I’m imagining it,” he admits. “And you’re right, it could be worse. But I don’t think I can agree to quite the level of control that Gran wants to have over this situation. Is she open to negotiations?”

It takes several hours, but Henry and Shaan manage to come up with a counteroffer for the queen that includes several important provisions. First: Henry wants to find a wife who’s in a similar situation he is—queer but unable to fully escape the pressures of her position in society. This way, Henry argues, there won’t be any possibility of her accidentally developing feelings for him that he’ll never be able to reciprocate; there won’t be any expectations of his interest in her romantically or sexually; and, it could really help someone who also finds herself at a loss of how to proceed.

Second: the child. Henry can’t imagine raising a child in the kind of household this arrangement will require; it’s too much to ask of him, too much to ask of his future wife, and risks too much damage to a child’s wellbeing. There must be some kind of way they could avert the need for a child, Henry argues, considering Philip will certainly produce heirs to carry on the name.

Third: the escort. Henry cringes just thinking about the word, but he’s firm that he wants a process in place through which he can choose his own after getting to know him, at least a little. He’s not going to let some random royal staffer select his only chance at mutual attraction and long-term happiness; it absolutely must be his choice.

Shaan thinks the queen will be open to having the discussion, at least, knowing that at the end of the road it will result in a royal wedding. He’s right. She agrees to the first and third terms immediately, and says the matter of an heir will require further discussion once more is known about the woman selected.

It’s not perfect, but it’s a start.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There’s been some ~discourse~ about this fic today, so I wanted to address it before posting this update. If you're not interested in the philosophical underpinnings of the fic, feel free to skip!
> 
> I wrote this fic fully from the view that sex work is legitimate work and functions as a way for many marginalized people—women, people of color, and LGBTQ+ people—to operate outside of a system that views their labor as cheap and exploitable. This is definitely addressed some in upcoming chapters, but since this fic is not from Alex’s POV, there’s not a full view inside his head. We all need money to survive under capitalism. Alex chose sex work as a profession because he realized that he was killing himself at a job for significantly less money than he makes as a sex worker doing less work, and work that he often enjoys. This is a way for him to operate outside of an oppressive system and reclaim wealth from those seen as powerful in a traditional sense.
> 
> RWRB is a beautiful book, AND it makes the assumption that working within the political system is the best way to make change. This is one viewpoint, but it’s not the only viewpoint. There is no doubt in my mind that Alex from this fic would view Henry, and Alex from canon (having to “fake some shit” about who he is and keep his relationship secret) as trapped and powerless, whereas in this world he is free to live his life as he pleases and be who he is. This Alex would NOT believe in political power, voting, etc. as the best or only way to make change, and he would view his work as part of a resistance against the racist, capitalist, heteropatriarchal systems that are upheld by the traditional political system. This is based on the perspectives of real sex workers who are very open and outspoken about why they do the work they do, and that is the lens through which this fic has been written.
> 
> I’m always open to having these kinds of discussions, but it requires that you reach out to me, rather than just talking about me. :)
> 
> Without further ado, enjoy chapter two!

“You have an actual binder of potential boyfriends in your possession this very second and you’re only bringing it up now?” Pez’s mouth, particularly noticeable slathered in hot pink lipstick, drops open dramatically. He looks as offended as the time Philip told him his outfit was too much for the occasion.

“It’s not...boyfriends. You know that,” Henry grumbles, dragging it onto the bed. Pez flops down beside him, offering Henry the bottle of cognac they’ve been working on for an hour at this point.

“Do you prefer the term boy toys?” Pez grins salaciously, and Henry elbows him hard, carefully holding the bottle aside so it doesn’t spill. “Seriously, how are you feeling about it all?”

“How I feel about it changes every five minutes. I’d say mostly nauseous, though, overall.”

“Are you excited at all? Trying to find blokes to date has been such a nightmare for you.”

“I don’t know.” Henry sighs heavily. “I think I’m trying not to get excited, in case it all goes terribly wrong.”

“Well, Mr. Pessimist, maybe you should let yourself experience a positive emotion once every five years or so.”

Henry takes a long drink of cognac and pointedly ignores his comment. He shoves the binder at Pez. “You open it. I can’t.”

“With pleasure.” Pez looks as gleeful as a kid on Christmas morning as he flips open to the first page. “Oh, Haz. He is _fit.”_

“Is he _naked?”_ Henry’s eyes bug out and he yanks the book back over in front of him. There are two photos on the page: one headshot and one full-length. In the full-length photo, the man is wearing only a tiny pair of briefs. “Oh, he’s covered. Thank God.”

“What d’you mean, thank God?” Pez says indignantly. “You may as well get to see what you’re buying before you pay for it.”

“Please stop.” Henry takes another drink. 

“He’s gorgeous, though.”

“He’s quite nice to look at, yes. Shaan said there would be an info sheet on each one, as well...oh, there it is,” Henry says, turning the page. “Age 23, UK citizen, interests—oh Christ, I can’t say that out loud.” Horrified, Henry shoves the binder back at Pez, who cackles in unrepentant delight.

“That’s one strategy to stand out from the crowd, isn’t it?” 

As it turns out, the strategy of detailing sexual activities as interests is more the rule than the exception. Henry starts to feel irritated when he turns to yet another page featuring a boringly beautiful man whose interests include sucking, fucking, rimming, and bondage. Don’t any of these escorts do anything outside of their jobs?

Pez flips the page, and the next headshot immediately catches Henry’s eye.

The man in the photo isn’t just gorgeous—he looks _alive,_ positively lit up inside, with warm, sparkling brown eyes and a cocky smirk. His deep brown curls effortlessly frame his face, falling over the smooth skin of his forehead, and the sharp line of his jaw practically demands that Henry follow it with his eyes (or his fingers, or his tongue—Henry quickly pushes that thought aside). He doesn’t realize how long he’s been staring until Pez nudges him. 

“Can I at least have a drink before you drool into the bottle?”

Henry hands it to him wordlessly, eyes flitting to the full-body shot. He’s instantly taken by the fact that this bloke still has some body hair, including a tantalizing trail descending from his navel. All the other guys have appeared completely waxed to the point of looking plasticky. He’s got the same glint in his eye in the full-body photo, but he’s smiling for real in this one, not trying to do some sexy, smoldering gaze. He looks like a real person—someone who wakes up every day with morning breath, someone who thrives on coming up with a good comeback, someone who takes his life into his own hands and lives it to the fullest extent possible. He radiates positive energy that Henry can’t even begin to wrap his head around.

“Have we found him, then?” Pez quietly interrupts Henry’s reverie.

“He seems...different.”

“He does,” Pez agrees. “Shall we learn whether he prefers it hard and fast, or deep and slow?”

A laugh escapes Henry’s parted lips. “All right, then.” 

Pez flips the page. Alex, 24, American. Interests: coffee, politics, lacrosse, Harry Potter.

Henry’s heart stutters. He _is_ a real person, not just some sex doll. He’s confident enough to name Harry Potter as one of his main interests on a fact sheet he’s sending to a potential high-profile client. He sounds like someone Henry could have an actual conversation with. And he’s not only gorgeous, but he looks like he has a soul; like he’s unlocked the secret to happiness and if you’re lucky, maybe he’ll share it with you.

“Definitely boyfriend material,” Pez declares. Henry smiles weakly. 

“I was starting to think this wasn’t going to work out,” Henry says, hoping Pez doesn’t notice the slight tremble to his voice.

“He does sound kind of perfect for you. And American, so maybe he won’t have a weird thing about you being a prince.”

“I guess we should keep looking at the others, then.”

They finish going through the binder, and while there are a couple other options that catch Henry’s eye, neither come close to the feeling that socks him in the gut when he looks at Alex’s picture. He turns back to it, fully aware of Pez’s eyes on him but pointedly not looking back.

“That’s that, I suppose.” Henry closes the binder suddenly, his entire body tensing up as he thinks about moving forward with the process.

“You all right?” 

Henry leans over, letting his head fall to Pez’s shoulder. Pez’s arm comes up around him. “This is so fucked up, Pez.”

“I know, babe. Just remember, you can fuck off at any point, and I’ll always have your back.”

Henry’s eyes squeeze closed, awash with gratitude even knowing that he’d never have the courage. “I know. Thank you.”

— 

The day for individual interviews with the men Henry selected dawns gray and rainy and cold. It always feels as though the chill from these kinds of days seeps into the stone walls of the palace and makes its way into Henry’s bones. No matter how much tea he drinks, he can’t warm up, can’t shake the shivers that crawl continually down his spine.

The interviews are taking place in a secure location in another part of London. There will be a livestream set up for Henry to view them from his quarters, and he’ll have immediate access to the staff conducting them in order to ask follow-up questions or clarify responses. Pez begged Henry to let him watch as well, but Henry couldn’t cope with the embarrassment of Pez seeing him react to his potential escorts and firmly declined. He’ll be alone. With a bottle of wine.

One of the escorts did not make it through the medical testing and other vetting procedures in place to get to the interview phase; Henry didn’t get to hear the details. That leaves two—Alex and Oliver. Henry’s stomach turns over at breakfast and he spends the rest of the morning alternating between pacing his room and sitting with his head in his hands. It’s so hard to know if this is the right thing to do, but he always arrives at the same conclusion: it’s his only chance.

Oliver’s interview is first. Henry was intrigued by the deep green color of his eyes, startlingly visible under a shock of black hair. He’s tall and lithe and ethereal, but Henry can see he’s strong as well, and there’s something appealing about the contrast. He looks nice in a dark suit and tie—at least until he opens his mouth.

“I’m good for anything, but I love it when clients want me to call them Daddy. There’s just something about a strong, powerful man with lots of money taking care of me that’s so sexy. I know you can’t tell me who the client is yet, but I’m already getting major Daddy vibes from this whole process.”

Henry’s mouth drops wide open in horror. He fumbles for his phone, immediately sending off a text to Shaan: _Get rid of him. NOW!_ After a large gulp of wine, he thinks better of it and adds, _Please._

A minute later, Henry watches the staff member conducting the interview press a finger to his earpiece and say, “The client is not interested in moving forward with you in this process. That’s all that will be required of you today.”

Oliver starts to protest, but two guards immediately step up on either side of him. Henry watches with satisfaction as he’s escorted out of the room.

With that having lasted barely five minutes, there’s almost an hour until the next interview. Henry gets increasingly tipsy as he scrolls through his phone, not really looking at anything, too jittery to focus. When the time comes, he opens his computer back up just in time to see Alex striding into the room. His heart skips a beat.

If Oliver looked _nice_ in a suit and tie, Alex looks like he was sent directly from some kind of fantasy land. Henry doesn’t believe in God in the traditional sense, but he thinks there must be a supernatural explanation for how Alex can have this kind of immediate effect on him—his pulse quickens, his mouth goes dry, and he actually feels tingly all over. If this is how he feels just looking at Alex on a fucking _screen,_ how is he ever going to get over himself enough to actually have sex with him? He’ll probably end up spontaneously ejaculating the first time Alex shakes his hand.

Henry forces himself to mentally walk back several steps. He hasn’t even heard Alex talk yet; he could easily be another Oliver. Henry’s never going to have sex with anyone who tries to call him Daddy, no matter how physically attractive he is. Even if Henry does want to hire him, Alex might not pass the crown’s standards, and it won’t be his choice at that point. Another thought flits into his mind, but it leaves just as quickly as it came when Alex looks up at the interviewer and smiles.

He’s _beautiful._

Henry moves to refill his wine, gnawing on his lip. He’s in trouble.

It quickly becomes apparent that Alex is not another Oliver. He’s thoughtful and intelligent, even in his first responses.

“I started my career in Washington, D.C., and I was fortunate enough to work with some very high profile politicians who required the highest level of discretion. I’m extremely familiar and comfortable with whatever measures are required to maintain secrecy. It’s not up to me to decide what those are, but I will follow them to the letter, as my references can attest.”

The interviewer nods. Henry trembles. 

“Considering you’ve worked in the political arena before, what do you believe is the role of an escort when it comes to their client’s work?”

“Politics are a major interest of mine, as evidenced by my bachelor’s degree in political science, and I greatly enjoy discussing and debating political issues. I’m always happy to act as a sounding board for different topics or issues clients are working on and bring in a different perspective— _if_ that is wanted—but I don’t believe it’s my role to actually try to influence the work of a client. I will say that a couple political issues are non-negotiable for me, due to my own identity as a queer person of color. I’m not willing to service a client who works against LGBTQ or racial equality in the public sphere and I’m not willing to debate those issues.”

“That won’t be a problem with this client,” the interviewer tells him.

“Great. Then my general approach is, I don’t mind telling a client how very wrong they are about something, but I also recognize I don’t actually have any influence over their work.” Alex leans back, grinning. Henry lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, and a small noise escapes with it. He blushes instantly, even though he’s completely alone.

Henry finds himself more and more impressed as the interview goes on. Alex is a confident and skilled speaker, managing to sound knowledgeable about a range of topics while still remaining approachable, even funny. At one point, he’s asked about the biggest challenge he’s encountered in his work and tells the long, winding story of a client who started out too nervous to look at him. Even the interviewer gets off track laughing at his robust descriptions of the awkwardness that ensued. He manages to remain respectful of the client, though, not casting any shame but concluding with genuine empathy for his situation and detailing the strategies he utilized to put the client at ease.

In a spontaneous decision, Henry sends a text to Shaan telling him to have them ask about the last book Alex read. Moments later, the interviewer passes the question along, and Alex’s eyes light up.

“I’m usually reading, like, two or three books at a time, so I never know how to answer this question exactly, but I did just finish an incredible biography of David Bowie that was essentially an oral history of him told through the eyes of those who knew him. It really made me think about _how_ we know what we know about people, and whether you can ever _truly_ know someone, because your view of them will always be tinted by your own lens and perspective and experiences.” Alex grows more and more animated as he talks about it, gesturing with his hands in front of him; Henry can’t tear his eyes away from the screen. “Bowie was– sorry, I’m rambling. It was a great book about an amazing person that led to a lot of philosophical thoughts on my end.” Alex lets out a hearty, full-throated laugh.

Henry doesn't even realize he’s grinning like an idiot until he gets a message back from Shaan asking if he has any further questions before they conclude the interview with some paperwork. Henry pretends to think about it for a second, then sends back that he doesn’t. He knew how this was going to go before Alex even started speaking, if he’s being completely honest with himself. 

“All right, I’m getting word that we’ve concluded the interview portion to the client’s satisfaction. Now, I have some paperwork I need you to sign, as well as a sample contract detailing some of the requirements of the position for you to make an educated decision about if you’ll be willing and able to fulfill them.”

Henry watches Alex reach into his coat’s breast pocket and pull out a pair of wire-rimmed glasses.

“Sorry, I just need these for reading, I swear.” Alex gives the interviewer a cheeky grin as he slides them on, and Henry actually has to close his eyes and take several deep breaths to calm himself.

The next step of the process, as long as all the paperwork goes well, is meeting Alex in person. Based on his physical and emotional responses to what just happened, Henry’s not sure he’s going to make it out of that alive.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The opinions of the author do not necessarily reflect the opinions of the characters!! ~~don't come at me Wolfstar people, I am one of you~~
> 
> Also: fuck JKR, here is [a UK-based trans equity organization](http://genderedintelligence.co.uk/) to donate to if you have the means.
> 
> Please enjoy! <3

“He’s already inside, Your Highness.”

Henry inhales deeply, pausing outside the door to the dining room. His stomach is completely shredding itself, his palms cold and clammy. He wipes them on his trousers and grimaces. The PPO at the door thankfully keeps his gaze straight ahead.

Henry nods shortly. “Thank you.” He pushes the door open with shaky fingers.

Alex jumps up from the ornate, antique dining chair as soon as Henry enters. The first thing Henry notices is his smile; it’s megawatt and beautiful and lights up his entire face. It instantly puts Henry a little more at ease, and he’s able to take in the rest of Alex as he walks toward him. The photo and video representations Henry’s seen of him so far pale in comparison to the person in front of him. There’s some kind of energy that radiates off of him, exuberant and charming and a little frenetic. Henry notices it immediately, and he can only imagine the read that Alex is getting of him at the same time: cautious, anxious, dour.

“Your Highness,” Alex says. The timbre of his voice is so deeply comforting, Henry wonders if this man was somehow genetically engineered just to please him.

“Alex, right?” he manages to say, making his way to the end of the long, formal table where two places are set. 

“That’s me,” Alex says, his smile somehow turning up even further. Even his accent is enticing. Henry didn’t know he had a thing for American accents, but maybe he just has a thing for Alex. He approaches hesitantly and holds out his hand, cringing internally. It’s almost definitely already damp with sweat again.

Alex grabs his hand, but instead of shaking it, he pulls Henry into a close hug, wrapping his arms around Henry’s shoulders. Henry’s so taken aback, he just stands there for a moment, shocked at the feel of wide palms on his shoulderblades, a broad chest pressed against his own. Alex’s fact sheet had detailed his height, but it’s another thing entirely to have the top of his head at eye level, to feel his face tucking into Henry’s shoulder. Henry forces himself to move, putting his arms around Alex’s waist and giving a light squeeze before pulling back. His face heats up immediately as Alex smiles up at him; he’s sure it’s bright red. At least he’s wearing a button-up and tie, to cover his undoubtedly splotchy chest.

Great. Clammy hands and easily embarrassed. Just the way he wants to make a first impression in front of the most beautiful man he’s ever seen.

“Sorry, was that allowed? I don’t really know how this works with a prince.” Alex continues to smile at him with bright eyes as they both sit in their respective chairs, Henry at the head of the table, Alex to his right.

“Erm, I don’t really know how this works, either. So I guess it’s...fine.”

“Only fine? I’m going to have to work on my hugging.”

Henry manages to laugh. “No, it was nice, if unexpected.”

“ _Nice_ is also not the enthusiastic descriptor I was hoping for. Don’t worry, Your Highness, I’ll keep at it.” Alex winks at him, and Henry almost faints. “Want some wine?”

Henry feels like he’s ten steps behind, thrown completely off-kilter by Alex’s smile and Alex’s eyes and Alex’s hands. How is this man comfortable enough to offer wine to a prince in his own palace?

“All right, then,” Henry says. Alex carefully pours them each a glass from the crystal decanter. Henry stares.

“Food smells good. Do you usually have people, like, serving you? Or is that just in Downton Abbey?”

Henry finds the corners of his mouth turning up again. “It depends on the occasion. On a normal night, I just eat in the kitchen. For a family dinner, we do have servers. I asked for no staff to be present tonight, aside from the PPOs outside, of course.”

Alex raises his eyebrows. “Why’s that, Your Highness?”

Henry’s blush instantly flares up again. “Honestly, I had no idea how this evening was going to go, and I didn’t want to worry about feeling...observed, on top of everything else.”

“Yeah? You prefer to watch as opposed to being watched?” Henry promptly chokes on his wine, and Alex throws back his head and laughs. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry. I’m a lot. I can tone it down.”

“Maybe we should just start eating,” Henry says. Alex raises an eyebrow again, this time with a smirk, and Henry puts his head in his hands.

“I’ll stop. I swear. As long as you stop making it so easy for me.”

“I’m sorry.” Henry exhales. “I’ve no idea what to do in this situation. I’ve never done anything like this before.”

“I’m not going to say what I want to, but only because I can see that you’re nervous and I don’t want to make you more nervous.” Alex laughs a little. “Even though it’s cute when you blush.”

Henry stares helplessly at him. Alex’s easy confidence to say whatever’s on his mind is astounding. It’s the complete opposite of the way Henry communicates, careful and precise, mountains of thought going into every word.

“Look,” Alex says, and he actually looks marginally serious for the first time since Henry stepped through the door. “I get it. This is weird. I use humor to deflect in uncomfortable situations. I’m nervous, too. I’ve never met a fucking prince before. Sorry, should I not swear in here?” Alex glances around the room suddenly, as though a PPO is going to come out of a secret door behind a painting and scold him.

“Why shouldn’t you?” Henry says, caught off guard. He should probably tell Alex it’s inappropriate to swear in reference to him, at least, but Alex plows on.

“Oh, okay. Cool. Anyway, just know that there’s no pressure for anything on my end. If you like me, you like me. If not, that’s cool.” Alex shrugs. “I mean, I want this job. Especially now that I’ve seen you, like, damn. You’re a straight-up Prince Charming. But I know you’re looking for something to work out long-term, and I think you should make sure you pick the best person for you. It’s okay if that’s not me.”

The tension starts to drain out of Henry’s shoulders as Alex speaks, even though the heat in his cheeks continues to prickle.

“Thank you. For saying that. I appreciate the sentiment.” Henry takes a deep breath for courage, then pulls his napkin onto his lap. “Our food is getting cold. Shall we?”

Henry is impressed with himself for managing to make somewhat normal conversation as they start to eat. Alex exclaims over the number of forks present on the table, and Henry makes a dumb comment about how he should see what it’s like to eat Sunday dinner with the queen, and Alex laughs, and it becomes a little easier, then. 

Alex is a good conversationalist when every word he says isn’t dripping with sexual innuendo; he’s funny and witty and always has a smart remark, but he also asks questions and genuinely listens to the answers. Henry finds himself relaxing much more than he thought he would as he prattles on about adopting David when Alex asks if he has any pets.

After a bit, they fall into companionable silence. Henry smiles at Alex, and Alex smiles back. Its brilliance sends a thrill through Henry’s entire body; he suddenly feels an urgent need to fill the quiet.

“So...what’s your Hogwarts house?” Henry asks. Alex barks out a surprised laugh.

“Gryffindor,” he replies, amusement in his eyes. “Obviously. What about yours?”

“Ravenclaw.”

“Nerd.”

Henry’s the one laughing, now. He’s never had anyone talk like this to him before; it’s kind of addicting. “Dare I say, dumb jock?”

“I can’t believe you would stereotype me like this,” Alex says, mouth dropping open in mock outrage. “There’s a long list of intelligent Gryffindors. Hermione! Dumbledore!”

“They were, that’s true. Dumbledore was gay, also.”

“Was he, though?” Alex cocks his head to the side.

“Yes. Rowling said so after the seventh book was published.”

“I don’t know, man. I believe in death of the author. If it’s not in the books, it doesn’t count. Doesn’t it just seem like queerbaiting? To say it after the fact, but not actually include it?”

Henry tries and fails not to be surprised that Alex has sophisticated, critical opinions on the absence of Dumbledore’s sexuality in the Harry Potter series. “I see your point, but still, it’s important for kids to hear that, regardless of whether it’s in the books or not.”

“It would be a lot better representation if he was actually gay in the books. Not everyone has followed JKR’s nonstop commentary since 2007.”

“Yes, you’re right. It would. It was a different time, then, though. And it’s not like homosexuality is entirely acceptable to this day.”

Alex rolls his eyes. “I fucking hate when people say, ‘it was a different time!’ People had so many opportunities to be brave, to be fucking trailblazing, to make an actual difference. By the time Deathly Hallows came out, JKR had already made her billions. She was set for life. She had a guaranteed audience and no reason to leave that information out of the book, especially since the entire thing was devoted to Dumbledore’s backstory and finding out things about him we never knew. It’s bullshit.”

Henry’s impressed by Alex’s rant, and it gives him the courage to go off on his own. “I personally think it’s further, er, _bullshit_ that Lupin was coded as gay the entire series, and practically lived as a fucking analogy for the AIDS epidemic, yet he ended up married off to Tonks in a move that made absolutely no sense.” Henry feels slightly naughty cursing in the formal dining room, and he suddenly understands why Alex asked about it. “Everyone knows that he and Sirius were together. _Everyone.”_

“I see your boring Marauder boyfriends and I raise you: Harry and Draco.”

“No,” Henry gasps. “They were enemies the entire time!”

“Were they, Henry?” There’s a jolt in Henry’s chest at Alex calling him by his given name without permission, but he doesn’t interrupt, just flushes warm all over. “Or were they just lustily obsessed with each other?” Alex raises an eyebrow. “Draco was butthurt about Harry rejecting his friendship because he had fallen in love with him at first sight. Every interaction they had fucking _crackled_ with sexual tension. And the entire sixth book was basically Harry following Draco’s ass around hoping to catch a glimpse of it. Like, that scene where he finds Draco crying in the bathroom would have gone a _lot_ differently if he hadn’t accidentally slashed his chest open with Sectumsempra. And he fucking _saved_ Draco from the fiendfyre. If they were enemies, he never would have done that. That’s true love.”

“You’re mad,” Henry says, falling into helpless laughter. “You’ve thought about this entirely too much.”

“I think I’ve thought about it exactly the right amount,” Alex says, grinning. “Now, speaking of gay lovers in Harry Potter, I’m thinking that if I’m the Gryffindor here, my natural counterpart is Dumbledore, which would make you Grindelwald, which kind of makes sense with, like, the grand supreme ruler thing. Are you secretly evil and planning to lead me down a dark path toward world domination?”

Henry’s the one raising an eyebrow now, barely keeping it together at the implication of them as gay lovers. “You’ll have to stick around long enough to find out.”

Alex looks, Henry thinks, extremely pleased with his response. His stomach squirms as silence falls between them, and he pushes the food around on his plate. He’s barely eaten any of it, but he’s not hungry; at first, he was too nervous, and now, he’s too excited. He notices that Alex’s plate is nearly empty and takes it as a good sign.

“So, uh, what’s it like being a prince? You know those of us from the colonies don’t really understand the point of the monarchy.” Alex leans back in his chair, flashing Henry a playful grin. Henry can’t help smiling a little as he shakes his head at the insolence. He takes a moment, considering how to respond, how much to give up this early.

“Probably a lot of what you would expect, with less interesting meetings, more harrowing encounters with paparazzi, and hiding everything about who I really am.”

Alex narrows his eyes. “Is this the part where you give me your sob story about how hard your life has been despite having unlimited access to money, power, privilege, and opportunities?”

Henry bristles, his defenses rising immediately. “No. I’m fully aware of the privileges of my position. But obviously, the fact that you’re here demonstrates I’ll never be open to the public about being gay, or able to pursue a normal relationship.”

“There’s a lot of gay folks in a lot worse situations than you, sweetheart.”

“I’m aware. I didn’t mean to imply that there aren’t.” Henry is so flustered by everything—the sudden change in topic, being spoken to like this, the nickname—that he doesn’t even correct Alex for addressing him so disrespectfully.

“Haven’t you ever thought about just coming out anyway? What’s the worst thing they can do?”

“Of course I have. But they could easily disown me and banish me entirely. I’d have to start over on my own with no one, no family, no protection.”

“My grandparents did that when they came to the U.S. from Mexico. Risked their lives to cross the border with zero possessions and zero money, and my grandma was pregnant with my dad. But some things are worth fighting for.” Alex’s eyes flash.

Henry is close to speechless, dumbfounded how things could have gone south so quickly after such an enjoyable evening. He didn’t know what to expect about tonight, but it certainly wasn’t Alex firing off intense questions and heaping judgment on him about some of the most painful, intimate matters of his personal life. Pez and Bea, the only people he can really talk to about this, are at least sympathetic to his situation. Alex sounds like he has no respect at all for the difficulty of the decisions Henry has had to make, for the life he’s had to lead. Shame mixed with anger mixed with hurt churns, acidic, in his stomach. He pushes his plate forward and stands up abruptly, tossing his napkin on the table.

“I’ve had enough dinner. The PPOs will see you out.”

Henry turns to leave without a second glance. He thinks he sees Alex rolling his eyes as he goes, and it only adds an extra sting to the growing ache in his heart. 

— 

Henry tries to move on with his life, assuming he’ll need to start from scratch finding a different escort—if it’s even worth the trouble to try again. He finds himself squirming with irritation at random times throughout the day just thinking about the way Alex spoke to him—completely disrespectful, entirely out of order, not even attempting to see things from Henry’s perspective. His questions keep ringing in Henry’s ears, and when he closes his eyes he sees the glint in Alex’s as he said, “Some things are worth fighting for.” 

Fighting for, yes. Dying for, no. Henry might be feeling slightly dramatic, but he’s pretty sure he wouldn’t make it out of a confrontation about this alive. Not with his grandmother. She’s always had a way of making him feel small, even now that he towers over her. He learned how to survive at a young age—act appropriate, keep your chin up high, agree with everything she says. It was manageable when his father was still alive, when his mother was still herself; he had backup, he had support, he had love. But now, he feels utterly alone, save for Bea. And she’s got her own issues to deal with when it comes to the crown.

No, Henry’s not looking for someone else in his life to tear him to shreds, not when he’s barely holding on as it is.

“But…” Pez says thoughtfully when Henry tells him so over dinner. 

“But what?” He tries to keep the annoyance out of his voice, but he’s not very successful.

“But it sounds like the two of you had some serious chemistry.”

“Does that matter?”

Pez looks at him like he’s a simpleton. “Darling. Of course it matters. What d’you think the chances are of finding yourself an escort who can not only rock your world in bed but also keep up with you intellectually?”

“We don’t actually know that he can rock my world in bed.”

Pez snorts. “Didn’t you say you got goosebumps just from hugging him?”

Henry flushes. “That wasn’t—it was more from surprise than anything—”

“I’m sure,” Pez says flatly. “Look, Henry. You know I want what’s best for you, and I’ll always support you. But as a prince, you’re constantly surrounded by _yes_ people. All of a sudden, you have an opportunity to have someone in your life who doesn’t give a flying fuck about your status. He’s American, he thinks the monarchy is codswallop—which, so do you, by the way—and he’ll tell it to you like it is. That doesn’t mean you have to do what he says, but I think it would be good for you to be around someone like that.”

Henry gapes at him, and Pez raises his hands defensively, adding, “Just to round out the perspectives you’re getting! You can get in your head so easily. Plus, I _know_ you’re attracted to him and enjoyed the hell out of that dinner before it went off the rails in the last five minutes.”

Henry fumes silently. Pez raises his eyebrows and pops a grape into his mouth.

“I just…” Henry trails off, clenching his jaw. “Everything else is so hard already. I just wanted something to be easy.”

“Babe, it’s definitely the easiest lay you’re ever going to get.” Pez laughs heartily; Henry rolls his eyes. “And,” he continues before Henry can say anything snippy, “if you don’t want to discuss your royal bullshit with him, just tell him that. Or have them put it in the fucking contract. You can literally set this relationship up however you want. I just don’t want you to sabotage yourself before you’ve even tried. He sounds...special.”

Henry’s irritation reaches maximum levels, mostly because he knows Pez is right. Why is Pez always fucking right?

“I don’t know. Maybe this is all a terrible idea. Maybe I should get one of the Ken dolls who looks like he only thinks about things once a week on Sundays. Less...risky.”

“You know you won’t be the least bit attracted to those blokes. Plus, higher risk, higher reward?” Pez cringes away like he’s waiting for Henry to slap him. Henry sighs.

“I suppose.”

“Why don’t you invite him back one more time and see how it goes in a more _intimate_ setting? He’s probably kicking himself right now for being so forward, anyway. I bet he’ll tone it down. Or up, but in the way you want.” Pez waggles his eyebrows. Henry sits back, worrying his lower lip with his teeth even though it’s raw and painful. “At least promise me you’ll think about it?”

“All right. I can promise that,” Henry says, but the mere thought of seeing Alex again is already making him feel jittery.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all the lovely feedback y'all!! I am so appreciative! <3
> 
> We've reached the part where the fic starts to earn its rating. :D Enjoy!!

Having Alex in his ornate, opulent living quarters feels discordant, somehow. Alex looks nice— _really_ nice—dressed in tailored chinos, shiny shoes, and a deep red, button up shirt, but how he looks isn’t the issue. It’s more how Henry feels, knowing _why_ he’s here, the sole purpose he’s come to the palace to serve. The only person outside his family and palace staff who’s been in Henry’s bedroom is Pez.

He can’t help but feel like he’s doing something wrong, even though it’s literally been sanctioned by the bloody queen.

Alex is quieter than he was at their previous meeting, but Henry’s not stupid enough to mistake his quietness for tentativeness. The energy he gives off is just as confident, the ghost of a smirk on his lips as he awaits instructions. Henry shifts, seated in the large wingback chair by the window, grounding himself in the familiar texture of buttery leather beneath his trembling fingertips. He knows his hackles are raised, his posture defensive and unwelcoming, and he tries to keep the anxious scowl off his face. Alex waits by the door for a moment after entering, then seems to make a decision and walks forward slowly, eyes on Henry.

“Your Highness,” he says, inclining his head. “I didn’t expect to be invited back.”

“Did I ask about your expectations?” Henry says, more harshly than he had intended. He realizes in that moment that the only way he’ll get through this is by treating it like exactly what it is: a transaction, bid into compliance by his royal authority. It socks him in the gut. 

Alex’s eyes widen. “My apologies, sir. Past clients have expressed appreciation for my smart mouth. But I can be good. If that’s what you want.”

Henry gets the sense that Alex’s apology is meant to go beyond this evening. Irritation pricks at him, a million tiny needles on his skin. He’s not sure if it’s due to Alex feeling like he needs to apologize, or the idea of Alex with other men who get off on the way he talks back. He resists the urge to shudder.

“I rather think I’ve had enough talking,” Henry says, deciding in that moment to act without thinking, for once. “Why don’t you show me what else you can do with your mouth?”

Alex raises his eyebrows, the corner of his lips turning up. “As you desire, sir. Any special requests?”

“You’re supposed to be one of the best. I’m sure you can figure it out.”

Alex takes a step closer before sinking to his knees. The sight is breathtaking. Henry’s cock begins to harden, despite his nerves. Alex is truly beautiful, the sharp planes of his face brought into contrast by the soft light of the lamp, his eyelashes long and dark and curled above molten brown eyes. Henry can feel sparks emanating off him with every movement, the energy that attracted Henry to him in the first place, all that life and emotion and zest bundled up in one stunning, whipcord body. He’s defiant even in his submission, feistiness apparent in the set of his jaw, the tilt of his eyebrow, the gentle parting of his lips as he looks up at Henry from his knees. This is exactly what Henry saw in his photo, during his interview, at their dinner together—everything that told Henry to run as far as he could, to choose someone safer, someone that wouldn’t start to kick up dust in the old, abandoned rooms of his heart. 

He chose Alex anyway. And now Alex is here, in Henry’s bedroom, on his knees between Henry’s legs. When his hands land on Henry’s thighs, Henry flinches. Alex gazes up at him, knowing.

“Is this all right?” Alex licks his lips. “Your Highness?”

Henry nods, short and jerky. He doesn’t trust his voice to speak.

Alex seems to take this as all the permission he needs. He drags his fingers slowly up Henry’s thighs, intentionally, his eyes coming to focus on Henry’s groin. Henry tries to keep himself from squirming. It’s been so long since he’s been touched like this, and Alex is a fantasy come to life that he never should have allowed himself to entertain.

Alex leans forward slowly, so slowly. He grips Henry’s thighs tighter, like he knows Henry’s thinking about running. Then he touches his lips to the growing bulge in Henry’s trousers, mouthing with increasing pressure until a shudder runs through Henry’s body involuntarily. Henry squeezes his eyes closed. He can’t bear to look.

Alex’s hands move up over his hips, tugging his tucked shirt out of his waistband. When Alex’s fingers slip up over the bare skin of his stomach, Henry inhales sharply through his nose, trying not to react, trying not to let Alex see how fucking needy and desperate he is. _Pathetic._

“It’s okay,” Alex murmurs, then lifts Henry’s shirt to press a sucking kiss into his stomach. “It’s okay to enjoy it. I want you to.”

Henry listens, disbelieving. He wants to tell Alex that what he wants is of no consequence, but how can he, when his words bring such relief to Henry’s tense, aching body?

He doesn’t respond. Alex deftly unfastens his trousers and tugs at them; Henry lifts his hips to allow him to pull them down just enough. He feels Alex reach under the elastic of his boxer briefs, and the first touch of Alex’s fingers to his hard cock brings an acute wave of pleasure mixed with nausea. He doesn’t want to want this as much as he does. He should be stronger. Better.

Straighter. At least, straight enough to fake it.

Alex pulls Henry’s cock out of his pants and strokes it firm and slow, and Henry clutches the arms of the chair at the intensity of it. He allows his eyes to open just slightly, but the sight of Alex’s mouth approaching him is too fucking much. He watches Alex kiss the tip with full, pouty lips and inhales a groan, closing his eyes once more.

After that, it’s a pure sensory experience, overwhelming in its potency. Henry clings desperately to control as Alex sucks him down, but what he said is true: Alex is one of the best, and it shows. He knows just what parts of Henry to tease with the tip of his tongue, how to take Henry in fully and swallow around him, when to pull back and use his hand while he tongues heavily around the head of Henry’s cock, lapping at the slit. Henry is barely hanging on; every nerve ending screams with overwhelming pleasure, so different than the fumbling, drunken experiences he’s had at parties, so precise and silky and sensual and different.

Henry doesn’t moan. Somehow, staying silent feels like an important part of staying in control, even as his legs start to shake and sweat drips down the back of his neck. His entire face is hot, a warm flush from his throat to the tips of his ears. He peeks again only to see Alex slide practiced lips down his length until his nose is pressed into the light curls at the base of Henry’s cock and God, he’s fucking beautiful, the visual of it ratcheting up his arousal a hundredfold, his dark hair a mess Henry wants to sink his fingers into, his lips shiny and wet. 

Henry keeps his hips still, lets Alex work how he wants, basking in the pleasure of not knowing what he’s going to do next. His tongue laves over Henry’s cock as he swallows deep around him, and when Henry’s least expecting it, his sparkling eyes flick up and lock on Henry’s. Henry’s mouth drops open, a shaky gasp the only sound he allows to escape as his arousal peaks, balls tightening, riding the waves that roll through every limb when he comes in Alex’s mouth.

Alex’s eyes flick down again, and he swallows carefully, sucking his way back to the tip to clean Henry up. He presses small kisses along Henry’s softening length, and it feels so tender and intimate that Henry almost moans. Almost.

Instead, he relaxes his grip on the chair, exhales slowly, and swallows hard. Alex sits back on his haunches, taking several deep breaths. Henry watches him through heavy-lidded eyes as he blinks slowly and passes a thumb over his lower lip. He notices with surprise that Alex’s trousers are tented and it sends a thrill through Henry’s body. Alex got turned on sucking him off?

Then Alex looks up at him again, and his mouth curves into a smirk. “Satisfied with my services?”

The blunt reminder of what this arrangement is turns Henry’s stomach.

“Go.”

“Wait, Henry–” Alex says, surprise flashing through his eyes as he reaches for Henry’s knee.

“ _Henry?”_ Henry lets out a laugh that verges on hysterical, his own voice unfamiliar to him. He flings Alex’s hand from his leg. “You will address me as Your Highness, or not at all, and you will touch me only when I give you permission to do so. Now _go.”_

Henry fumbles to tuck himself back into his trousers as Alex scrambles to the door of the room. He turns back to look at Henry, his mouth falling open for a second, but then he’s gone without a word.

Bile rises in Henry’s throat, sickening and sour. It contrasts with the warmth in his limbs, the tension his body previously held now expelled post-orgasm, leaving him jelly-like and relaxed. He shouldn’t have enjoyed that. He shouldn’t want this, shouldn’t _need_ this. He’s disgusting. Completely, utterly pathetic.

In another lifetime, maybe he could have met Alex at a pub, at a party, at Philip’s wedding. He could have smiled at him and flirted with him, argued with him and teased him. He could have kissed him under winter clouds and touched him behind a locked door, safe in his desire.

This isn’t that lifetime, and that Alex doesn’t exist. Neither does that Henry.

It’s a long while before he convinces himself to move from the chair, and his shaky legs only serve as a reminder he doesn’t want.

— 

Monday nights at nine P.M.

That’s the time Henry decides he wants to see Alex on a regular basis, and through his royal messengers, Alex agrees. Henry’s almost always busy on weekends with events and traveling, and Monday has generally been his day of recuperation to the extent that it’s possible. The day he does things for himself.

He’s still not sure if this arrangement with Alex is going to make him happy in the long run, or if he’ll be left feeling sick and pathetic every time, but he recognizes it for what it is: his only chance. He’s drawn to Alex in ways he can’t explain or understand, and the spark he feels in his gut when he thinks about Alex’s beautiful brown eyes gazing at him under those fucking eyelashes seems to be more in control of his decisions than his brain.

He has no idea what Alex thinks about it all. He tells himself it doesn’t matter; Alex is a professional, and he’s getting paid regardless. But something inside of him hopes that Alex doesn’t find him completely awful, even though he’s given him no reason to, what with his mood swings.

The following week, he’s in bed reading when there’s a knock on the door.

“Enter,” he calls. His heart stutters when Alex slips inside. He carefully marks the place in his book and sets it on the bedside table. 

Alex closes and locks the door behind him, then turns back to Henry with a small smile. He’s waiting, Henry realizes, for instructions.

“You can come closer,” he says softly. Alex approaches immediately, and Henry pats the bed to indicate he should sit. 

“How are you?” Alex says, edging onto the bed with his feet dangling off the side, then adds with a smirk, “Your Highness?”

Henry flushes at the memory of his parting words the previous week, shame roiling in his stomach. “I’m fine, thank you. How are you?”

“I’m good. Happy to see you.” Alex grins widely at him. The emotions this arouses in Henry are frankly embarrassing.

“I’m surprised, after the way I’ve treated you the last time you were here.”

“This is new for you, right?” Alex says with a shrug. “I get it. You’re in a shitty situation.”

Henry’s instinct is to bristle at Alex commenting on his situation, but he pushes it aside. It _is_ shitty, he’s well aware. He’s just not used to being so...seen. 

“Still,” Henry says, meeting Alex’s gaze, “I apologize.”

“It’s all good,” Alex tells him with a half-smile. Henry wants to get lost in the warmth of Alex’s eyes, the understanding and kindness he sees there. Alex opens his mouth as if to speak, but then he hesitates.

“Please, continue,” Henry says.

“It doesn’t have to be like it was last time,” Alex says tentatively. “Unless you want it to. We can talk, we can get to know each other. Or you can order me to my knees to suck you off and send me on my way. It’s your call.”

“What would we possibly have to talk about?” Henry instantly berates himself for automatically trying to self-sabotage and, in the process, being a giant prick once again.

“Like, what are you reading?” Alex nods toward Henry’s book on the nightstand, and Henry is grateful he overlooks Henry’s jab so easily.

Henry smiles in spite of himself. “You’re interested in literature that’s not about boy wizards?”

“I’m not just a pretty face, sweetheart. There is something going on up here.” Alex taps his temple, and Henry snorts. He reaches for the book and hands it to Alex. “ _Persuasion,_ eh?”

“It’s my favorite Austen novel. I tend to reread it when I’m...stressed.”

“What are you stressed about?” Henry’s eyebrow shoots up; Alex puts up his hands. “Okay, okay. I always liked _Emma,_ myself. Never read _Persuasion.”_

Henry snickers. “Why am I not surprised?”

Alex looks pleased at Henry’s antagonism. “What’s so great about it?”

“ _Emma’s_ got the humor, and it’s very clever, but _Persuasion_ is...mature, and complex. It’s melancholy, but it’s so beautiful, and so...romantic.”

“Ah, so you’re a romantic.” 

Henry purses his lips. “I appreciate a well-crafted romance, and _Persuasion_ is genius in that regard. That’s all.”

“I don’t know,” Alex says skeptically. “I remain unconvinced.”

“Well, you’ll have to read it and become convinced, won’t you?”

“You gonna let me borrow it?”

Henry pauses only briefly before saying, “Of course.”

“Great. I guess we’ll see, then.” They exchange grins; Henry’s heart flutters. Alex toes off his shoes and motions to the bed. “May I?”

“Yes.” The fluttering of Henry’s heart turns to something significantly heavier. Alex crawls onto the bed completely, stretching out at Henry’s side. His foot brushes Henry’s ankle; Henry forces himself not to jerk away.

Alex holds his hand close to Henry’s cheek, but doesn’t touch. “May I?”

Henry takes a breath. “Yes.”

Alex’s knuckles on Henry’s skin send a quake through his entire body. Alex is shifting closer, one leg coming up over Henry’s. He presses a cheek to Henry’s cheek, so that Henry can feel Alex exhale against his ear. “May I?” he murmurs, his mouth at the corner of Henry’s lips.

Henry’s desire wars furiously with his need to stay in control. He doesn’t know how far into this he’ll sink if Alex kisses him as sweetly and tenderly as he wants him to—or how he’ll be able to cope if Alex doesn’t. 

“Not that,” Henry says, more breath than words. 

“All right,” Alex says and kisses his neck instead. Alex is warm, so warm, heating Henry up like a furnace at his side, his mouth hot and his fingers blazing a trail of wildfire across Henry’s stomach. Henry closes his eyes and sinks into it, resigning his body to the smoldering embers he already knows Alex can make of him with his touch.

Alex takes Henry’s hand in his own and presses it up under his shirt. Henry’s fingers spread automatically, seeking more skin. Alex feels incredible, firm sinew and sharp juts of bone and soft, smooth skin. Henry swallows a moan; Alex’s thumb comes up to his Adam’s apple, following the movement down his throat, pushing his shirt aside and skimming over his collarbone. Henry traces Alex’s body with his fingers, his ribs and the slight dip of his waist, over his abdomen. He scratches fingers through the trail of hair leading down from Alex’s navel, and Alex hums in his ear.

“Do you like to touch?” Alex whispers, then bites his earlobe, sharp and sudden. Henry can’t hold back the gasp that escapes him.

“Don’t—I mean, please don’t talk anymore,” Henry amends, trying to be kinder. Alex’s low chuckle vibrates through him.

“Yes, Your Highness,” Alex says, then pushes Henry’s shirt up as he starts to work his way down Henry’s body. Henry’s hand slips out of Alex’s shirt, and he fists it in the sheets instead. Alex spends a significant amount of time worshipping his stomach, his chest, tonguing his nipples, turning Henry into a writhing mess. He’s so hard by the time Alex unbuckles his belt that he’s _aching_ for Alex to touch him. Alex doesn’t play around this time, just wets his lips and sucks Henry down to the hilt, and Henry’s back arches as pleasure zings through his limbs out to the tips of his toes. He can’t help it; he groans.

Alex looks up at him, and Henry thinks he looks pleased. He wraps one hand around the base of Henry’s cock, still sucking, and with his free hand he disentangles Henry’s from the sheets and brings it to the back of his head. Henry threads his fingers through those fucking glossy curls, disbelieving at how good it all feels. 

_Good,_ the small part of Henry’s brain that’s still producing rational thought thinks, _doesn’t even begin to cover it._

Every nerve ending in his body is firing on all cylinders. Alex’s soft kisses and teasing have brought Henry’s body into some kind of super responsive state—all of his senses are overwhelmed, assaulted by the wet, perverse noise Alex’s lips make forming suction around Henry’s cock; by the smell of Alex’s cologne clinging to Henry’s shirt, rucked up around his chest; by the sight of Alex’s eyes locked on him while his own length bulges in Alex’s cheek.

Henry thought he knew what it would mean—intellectually, at least—to find someone he was truly attracted to and bring that person into his life, into his _bed,_ with the sole intention of starting a sexual relationship. But the reality of it is so much more intense, the associated emotions coursing through his body as readily as the tightening and tensing of his muscles, fraught with pleasure at Alex’s careful, methodical work taking him apart. He’s coming close to the edge, riding the high as long as he can. Moans pour out of his mouth, no longer able to keep himself in check. The moment before he comes, Alex’s hand grips his bare hip, and Henry’s noises turn guttural and staccato. It feels like raw intimacy, and it carries him through the orgasm wracking his body, a steadying and loving presence amidst a desperate loss of control.

As Alex pulls back, he keeps his hand there, rubbing slow circles into the soft dip by the bone with his thumb. The touch combined with his oversensitive skin sends little shockwaves through him. Then, Alex presses a kiss there, and Henry’s breath turns shaky as he tries to collect himself. He doesn’t speak, his eyes squeezed tightly closed, listening to Alex’s slow, deep breathing. Alex runs soothing hands down Henry’s sides, tugs his underwear back up and fastens his trousers, pulls his wrinkled mess of a shirt back down to cover him.

He feels the mattress shift and cracks his eyes open to see Alex on his back beside Henry, stretching his arms above his head. Henry thinks he’s probably awaiting further instructions, but he doesn’t trust himself to say anything, yet.

Alex blinks up at him, the only evidence of their interaction the flush tinged high in his cheeks that matches the redness of his wet lips, and the swell in the front of his trousers. His smile is indulgent. Henry thinks about tasting himself on Alex’s tongue, thinks about sliding his hand down Alex’s front and feeling the evidence of his arousal, thinks about telling Alex to strip and watching him touch himself. In the end, he just lays there, looking. 

Some time passes quietly between them; Henry’s not sure how long. Then he forces himself to stop fantasizing and says, “Thank you,” his voice scratchy.

“You’re welcome,” Alex replies, and then, “I like hearing you like that.”

Henry flushes instantly. “I know you’re probably used to saying what you think your clients want to hear, but I don’t want to hear anything from you that’s not the truth. You don’t have to say nice things to placate me.”

“Okay,” Alex says, rolling onto his side. He takes Henry’s hand, brings it to his mouth, and presses a soft kiss to the inside of his wrist. “I like hearing you like that.”

Henry’s pulse, which had started to slow, quickens again under Alex’s lips.

“You should probably go,” he wills himself to say.

“Is that what you want?” Alex eyes him, then peppers kisses up the length of his forearm.

“Yes.” Henry closes his eyes. Alex runs fingertips over where his mouth had been.

“Okay.”

The mattress shifts again as Alex gets up. Henry hears the sound of rustling, probably Alex putting on his shoes. Quiet footsteps make their way from one side of the bed to the other, and Henry feels Alex in his physical space before he touches him—dry lips to Henry’s forehead.

“Good night, Your Highness.”

He can’t bring himself to respond.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My loves! I am so thrilled y'all are enjoying the story, it quite literally warms my heart! I would like to give a general blanket recommendation that from now on, it's probably best not to open this fic at work sldkjfalsdjfkladjs unless your workplace is cool with smut, in which case, please hire me. I know it's a bit rocky of a start for our boys; bear with me.
> 
> You may have noticed the chapter count changed - I messed with a few chapter breaks and it ended up 16 + an epilogue which will be posted at the same time as the final chapter. I don't write or think in chapters so I'm just trying to figure it all out lol.
> 
> I wanted to mention that I help mod (I use that term verrrry lightly bc I don't do shit lol) [a RWRB discord server](https://discord.gg/25DZeU9) and it's open to all if you're interested in joining and hanging out. Come on by! 
> 
> Thanks so much for all the lovely feedback and enthusiasm! Enjoy the update <3

Henry’s not sure if it gets easier, exactly—but he does start to get something like used to it. Used to the anxiety racing up and down his veins, throbbing its way in and out of his heart. Used to the quickening of his breath immediately after he hears the knock on his door. Used to the utter sense of self-loathing that settles on him like a layer of grime when Alex leaves. It’s never easy, but at least he knows what to expect.

What he doesn’t get used to is the way Alex’s mouth feels, hot and wrapped around him. The way Alex locks eyes with him while he’s sucking him off, and there’s always something a little soft in them. The way Alex’s body feels under his hands, and the fact that he’s allowed to touch it. It’s still surprising, even after several weeks. Alex must sense how much Henry yearns for it, because he always brings Henry’s fingers to a new part of his body, lets Henry explore the different textures of his skin. His jaw, rough and scraping with stubble. His back, smooth and firm with small juts of bone along his spine. His chest and the silky flesh of his nipples. His arms, covered in soft hair and tendered in gooseflesh as Henry sucks on his throat for the first time, gentle and disbelieving, a lively pulse under his tongue.

It also surprises Henry how quickly and how easily Alex learns to read him. He notices right away that Alex is paying attention to everything—not just his physical reactions, but his moods, his emotions. The tension in his neck and shoulders, the way he carries himself. He knows that Alex is often testing whether and how far he can push him that night, or else he stays quiet, subservient, responding instantly to Henry’s verbal and nonverbal cues.

It’s almost as good for Henry to feel Alex’s body, to slowly uncover each new part of him, as it is to come in Alex’s mouth every week. _Almost._ But Alex makes every effort to ensure Henry is left completely content, and it’s not long before he knows every quirk, every angle, every different speed and tempo of how and when Henry likes it. 

It’s terrifying, honestly, how quickly Alex comes to know him in ways he’s never been known before.

One week, when Henry’s in his head, Alex throws on a sassy smirk and pushes him down on the couch.

“You can look, but don’t touch,” Alex says, teasing, sultry. Henry suddenly can’t remember what he was even thinking about as Alex slowly peels off each piece of his clothing, moves like a rolling wave over him, and grinds down in the most epic lap dance of Henry’s life. (Well, the only lap dance, but Henry’s sure he wouldn’t get better anywhere else.) His hands creep up to Alex’s arse at one point, and Alex slaps them away, threatening to tie him up if necessary.

Henry comes hard down Alex’s throat after that.

When Henry’s there after a day of official meetings, tense and angry from being ignored and talked over for eight consecutive hours, Alex just sinks to his knees in front of him, parts his lips, and looks up at Henry through his eyelashes, awaiting further instructions. Henry fucks his mouth that night, tentative and nervous at first, but Alex encourages him with moans, with his fingers pressing into Henry’s backside, forcing his hips forward until Henry just lets go, lets himself enjoy it, pulls Alex’s hair taut in his fingers and holds him in place while he thrusts repeatedly over Alex’s silky tongue. It’s everything Henry didn’t know he needed. Somehow, Alex knew.

Henry tries to keep himself in check, tries to keep Alex at an arm’s length, tries not to let him get too close. It’s hard, when Alex is there to sass him at just the right time to make him smile at the utter insolence of it, when Alex offers him purely physical comfort if everything else is too much. He feels himself opening up little by little, doesn’t mind sharing when he’s had a spot of good news or feels excited about something. It’s harder to share when he’s sad or frustrated or angry, but somehow, he doesn’t feel like he has to, when Alex can read him seemingly instantaneously.

It’s the sixth Monday since their first Monday night meeting when Shaan requests to join him for dinner to discuss a sensitive matter. Henry tenses instantly. He’d been home for the weekend without any public engagements and started the week fairly relaxed and calm, for once. He’d been looking forward to seeing Alex that night, to touching him, to trying to make him smile, make his eyes light up. Shaan’s request isn’t completely out of the ordinary, but somehow Henry knows what the matter he’s referring to is.

They meet in the dining room at seven. Shaan looks completely uninterested in his plate of food as he sets a folder down on the table between them.

“Lady Nora Holleran,” he says. “Granddaughter of Michael Holleran, Duke of Wellington. Do you remember seeing her at the holiday celebration earlier this month?”

Nonplussed, Henry says, “Yes, I remember her. Why?”

“We have confirmed through underground sources,” Shaan says, “that she is in a secret, serious, long-term relationship with a woman. However, she is also expected to marry a man, and her family has been receptive to several discussions about her as a match for you. So, Her Majesty would like us to move forward.”

“Move forward with what?” Henry’s heartbeat thunders in his ears.

“With your official royal courtship of her, on a rather strict timeline.” Henry’s appetite vanishes. Shaan pulls a paper out of the folder and lays it between them. “As it stands, you’ll meet for dinner publicly this weekend.”

“I’m sorry, _this_ weekend?” Henry ignores the paper and looks at Shaan in disgust. “So quickly? Why is this necessary? How did all these discussions take place without me knowing about it?”

“Unfortunately, I was not briefed thoroughly until today. So while I knew the search had been in progress, I was not aware of this being drawn up, or I would have of course informed you immediately, Your Highness.”

“What comes next?”

“You will court her publicly over the next six months, then propose marriage. The wedding will take place before the end of next year.” Shaan’s lips become a thin line. Henry blinks at him.

“This is absurdly and unnecessarily quick,” he says, trying to contain his anger. “If we’re to make it believable, I think we need to get to know each other in private for at least six to twelve months before going public. It’s not going to be that easy to fake it.”

Shaan nods. “I thought you might say something along those lines, so I’ve been working on a counterproposal to present. I can’t guarantee we’ll get what we want, but I’m planning to meet with Her Majesty’s advisors tomorrow. Let’s see what we can do, sir.”

It takes over two hours to come up with a plan Henry will agree to, as well as contingencies and contingencies for the contingencies, depending on how the advisors respond. A PPO comes in to inform Henry that Alex has arrived shortly before nine, and he grimaces.

“You can ask him to please...wait in my quarters,” Henry says, then immediately second-guesses his decision to let Alex alone in his room. If Shaan is surprised, he keeps it off his face.

They finish their plans as quickly as possible and Henry’s making his way upstairs by 9:15 P.M. He pauses briefly in front of his bedroom door, wondering if he can possibly get himself together, but he quickly abandons that hope and storms in like a thunderclap, not sure what he’ll find.

Alex is lounging in his bed, shoes and socks off and shirt unbuttoned. He’s propped up against the ridiculous pillows, looking almost small among all of them, and he’s reading the book Henry had left on his nightstand, _The Collected Poetry of W.H. Auden._

Somehow, the sight of him there, like he belongs, makes tears well up in Henry’s eyes. Horrified, Henry blinks rapidly, trying to clear them away before Alex notices.

“Hey,” Alex says. Henry immediately senses the caution in his voice. “Your Highness.”

“Hello,” Henry says. It’s probably completely obvious to Alex that he’s trying too hard to sound normal.

“You’re late,” Alex says, teasing. Testing him.

“I had an unexpected meeting.” Henry can’t bring himself to tease back. Alex closes the book and pats the bed next to him.

“Come on.”

Henry drags himself across the room, every step difficult for his suddenly leaden feet. He stops at the foot of the bed, kicking off his shoes and loosening his tie. He can sense Alex’s gaze on him, following his every movement. He sucks in a deep breath and closes his eyes. His feet feel glued to the floor. 

Moments later, Alex is there, in his space, pressing up against him from behind. Henry hadn’t even heard him get up. He rests his hands gently on Henry’s hips, then slides them up his sides, around his front. Alex is hugging him, Henry realizes. He bites down violently on his lip to distract himself before his eyes fill with tears again.

Alex’s fingers trail up his arms, making him shiver. They find the knot of his tie, pull it over his head. Henry lets him, lets Alex work open the buttons of his shirt, lets Alex press his lips to Henry’s neck and kiss him gently. He skims the surface of skin with his teeth, making Henry cry out a little. Alex pulls Henry’s shirt open and runs hot hands over the bare skin of his chest, his stomach. When he tugs the fabric back off Henry’s shoulders, he starts to talk.

“I’ve been thinking about you.” Alex’s voice is low and hits Henry in the solar plexus, burning into him. “Thinking about you and your gorgeous body and your perfect cock.” Alex scratches his nails down Henry’s back suddenly and Henry pitches forward, grips the duvet for stability. “Did you know I’ve been getting off thinking about having you in my mouth? I love it when you go so deep you make my throat rough and scratchy the next day. Makes me think about you all fucking day.”

“Alex,” Henry says, unable to hide the tremor in his voice. Alex’s fingers come back around his waist, rub up and down along the zipper of his trousers.

“I want to know,” Alex continues, pulling open the fastenings, “what your cock feels like inside me.” Henry feels himself stirring with interest, despite his mood. He can feel Alex half-hard and pressing into his arse. He swallows. “Do you want to fuck me, Your Highness?”

Alex’s hand works its way into his shorts and rubs him until he’s fully hard. Henry is breathing harshly already, his mind whirring with too many thoughts. Alex sucks gently along the column of his neck, down over his shoulder. Henry feels out of sorts, his body at war with his mind, unable to determine what he really wants. What he _needs._

“Or if you’re tired,” Alex goes on, “you could lay back and let me ride you, sweetheart. I’ll finger myself open and you can just relax. I’ll do all the work.”

Henry would be speechless from this in normal circumstances and a good state of mind, but now he _really_ doesn’t know what to say.

“Come on, let me take care of you,” Alex purrs in his ear. “Please?”

“All right,” Henry says faintly, because what the fuck else is he going to do? Turn down this perfect, gorgeous man when all Henry wants is to be able to enjoy this, enjoy _him?_ Alex kisses his neck again, gentle this time, and removes his hand from Henry’s boxer briefs. He pushes down on the waistband of Henry’s trousers until they fall to the floor, leaving him in just his underwear.

“Get on the bed.” Alex gives him a little push in the back. Henry dutifully climbs up, grateful to have simple instructions he can follow. He lays back on the pillows, eyes on Alex as he finishes removing his own clothes, grabbing something out of his pocket before climbing on the bed as well. It’s lube, Henry realizes belatedly, and travel-sized at that. Alex came prepared.

Alex drops the bottle on the bedclothes and straddles Henry, looking him in the eyes for the first time that night. Henry doesn’t have the energy or the wherewithal to try to hide anything; he lets Alex look, lets Alex see him, really see him. Alex nods like he understands, leans in, and sucks Henry’s earlobe between his lips, kisses his throat and skims hands over his skin until Henry’s body is loose and relaxed. 

Then he reaches for the lube, and Henry realizes he’s going to do it right there on top of him. He thinks he should be endlessly turned on by this, but he’s struggling to experience everything fully with his body, feels like he’s outside of it, somehow. He tries to focus on the sound of the lube cap flipping open, on the feel of Alex’s erection pressed into his hip, the smell of Alex’s shampoo invading his nostrils. He feels Alex move, feels his thighs tremble slightly, watches his mouth fall open, and it’s so fucking sexy, but he just can’t fucking _focus._

Henry realizes with a growing sense of panic that his physical interest is starting to wane and he squeezes his eyes shut. Why can’t he just have this _one thing_ without completely fucking it up?

“Hey,” Alex breathes, a rush of warm air against his ear. “Are you okay?”

Henry desperately wants to tell Alex he’s fine, keep going, don’t stop, but he can’t. “I’m sorry...I’m not in the right mindset tonight. I’m–I’m sorry.”

Alex climbs off him carefully, casting his eyes around before jumping up to go wash his hands. Henry listens to the sound of the water running from the en suite and turns on his side, curling up in a tight ball. He hears Alex come back into the bedroom but can’t bring himself to look. After a moment, the mattress dips, and then Alex is pressed up close against his back. 

“Don’t worry about it, okay? Don’t worry at all,” Alex murmurs, holding him tight. Henry almost laughs. Sometimes it feels like worrying is the only thing he _can_ do. “Do you want to talk? Or do something else? Watch a movie?”

Henry shakes his head as much as he can in this position. He tries to sink into the physical comfort of Alex’s body, but it just feels like a reminder of everything he doesn’t want to think about right now—the arrangement, the fiance, the fact that he has the man of his dreams _here,_ in his bed, ready and willing to do anything to please him, and he can’t even make _that_ work.

“Just go.”

“Are you sure? We don’t have to—”

“Get out. Please,” Henry adds, hoping it doesn’t come across like he’s trying to punish Alex for his own inability to control his emotions. It ends up sounding like a desperate plea.

Minutes later, when Alex is gone, all Henry can think is that his absence feels even worse.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please enjoy this chapter - I suspect you will! :D <3

Shaan’s meeting with the queen’s advisors doesn’t go terribly, but it doesn’t go great, either. Henry spends the week jittery, pacing, waiting for word on how things settle out, frustrated and helpless that he can’t negotiate for himself. By Friday, they’ve agreed to allow at least a three month period in which Henry and Nora can get to know each other privately, and permitted them to push back the first dinner to the following weekend.

Henry can cope with that. It gives him some breathing room, at least, before he has the public’s expectations weighing on his shoulders concerning the relationship. Once that starts, there’s no going back. 

By Monday, Henry feels like he’s got rocks piling up in his stomach remembering how he left things with Alex the week before. He waits for him on the couch, scrolling mindlessly through his phone and worrying his lower lip. When there’s a soft knock, he can’t bring himself to respond, but the click of the door opening immediately after doesn’t surprise him. He rubs his forehead, not looking up, and feels more than sees Alex sit next to him, smells the familiar cologne. Then a hand lightly touches his back, a thumb massaging along his spine. It’s more comforting than Henry wants it to be.

“I almost told you not to come,” Henry says quietly. 

“I would’ve come anyway,” Alex tells him. Henry turns his head to the side to find Alex grinning, a defiant gleam in his eye.

“I don’t doubt it.” Henry laughs a little, despite his mood. He can already feel it starting to lift.

“This is more casual than I’ve seen you before,” Alex observes. Henry’s wearing a pair of worn gray pajama bottoms and a white undershirt, too exhausted from the endless meetings of the day to stay in his work clothes.

“Forgive me. Found the tie a bit strangling tonight.” Alex’s fingers work into his tense muscles, and relief bleeds through his aching shoulders.

“We don’t have to do anything, if you don’t want. We can just...hang out.”

“I feel like a bloody idiot, Alex.” Henry runs a hand through his hair.

“You are, but not for the reasons you think.” 

The pure audacity startles a laugh out of Henry. No one has ever spoken to him like this before, and he didn’t know he would _like_ it so much. He looks at Alex by his side, smiling up at him, and feels something stir deep within his core.

“What if I do want to do something?”

“Then tell me what you want, Your Highness.” Alex’s voice is light and teasing, contrasting with the heavy warmth of his hand on the back of Henry’s neck. Henry leans into his touch, then finds Alex’s free hand and places it on his thigh.

“I want you to touch me,” Henry breathes, “and I want to touch you.”

Alex’s hand slides up his leg, over his hip, flattens on his chest. “I knew you were into touching, too. I fucking knew it.”

“I can’t imagine anyone wouldn’t be into touching _you.”_ Henry’s face warms at saying this, and Alex’s laugh sends warmth spreading through the rest his body, too. Alex reaches for the hem of his shirt; Henry raises his arms to allow Alex to pull it over his head. Alex’s hands find the bare skin of his chest immediately as he crawls into Henry’s lap, straddling his thighs.

“You’d be surprised,” Alex says, and then, hands all over him, “Your body fucking sends me to another universe, Your Highness.”

Henry feels the flush in his cheeks deepen. “I told you not to lie to me. All those things you said last week...”

Alex leans in to leave soft kisses along the side of Henry’s neck. “I haven’t lied to you since you told me not to.”

“But this is just a job for you,” Henry blurts out, his self-sabotaging instincts striking yet again. “You can’t be attracted to me.”

“Why do you think those two things are mutually exclusive?”

“I just never thought you’d—I don’t know, I just—”

“Do me a favor,” Alex cuts in, “and if you won’t let me kiss you, at least shut up and take a compliment.”

“I’ll...try.” Henry moans quietly as Alex tongues erratic patterns onto his skin. Henry’s hands find the top button of Alex’s shirt and pop it open, continuing to reveal more and more tantalizing skin until Alex pulls the shirt up and over his head. He moves closer, sliding their bare chests together, his mouth on the shell of Henry’s ear. 

“I get the sense that no one has ever told you that you’re enough, but you are. Exactly as is. You don’t need to change a thing.”

Henry’s heart feels as though it’s caught in a clamp, squeezing and squeezing and ready to burst. He wants to believe Alex so badly, wants to imagine that this is what Alex really thinks about him, but it’s so hard to let go of his constant, paralyzing self-doubt, the voice in the back of his head telling him Alex is getting paid to talk this way.

Alex pulls back and searches his eyes. A half-smile tugs at the corner of his lips as he says, “That’s better.” And Henry thinks, does it matter what Alex’s motive is if he’s making Henry feel like _this?_

Henry slides his hands up Alex’s neck and pushes into his thick curls. Then he pulls Alex’s face closer and kisses him.

Alex makes a soft, surprised noise, but leans into the kiss without hesitation. It starts sweet, innocent, both sides asking permission to take it further, and then Alex’s lips part and Henry’s tongue slips into his mouth and Alex melts against his body like Henry’s fulfilling some deep, innate, physical need of his. It feels so fucking good, unbelievably, scarily good, to hold Alex and connect with him like this; somehow, it feels more intimate than anything else they’ve done. 

The kiss is relaxed, genuine, _tender_ —everything Henry wanted, and everything he feared.

Henry’s not sure how much time passes; he loses himself in the slide of Alex’s lips against his. Alex’s fingertips press into his bare chest. Henry’s hands muss up Alex’s perfectly styled hair. Neither of them are in a rush, it seems. After weeks of doing everything but kissing, Henry had tried to tell himself it didn’t matter, but it’s quickly becoming clear just how much it does. It’s fucking _electric._

At some point, Alex’s movements slow, and he takes several deep breaths, his lips caught on Henry’s. Henry’s eyes blink open to find Alex’s still closed, blurry up close. Alex sighs, and the sweep of air across Henry’s skin leaves a trail of gooseflesh much farther than its physical reach. Alex leans back slightly, opening his eyes.

“Henry,” Alex whispers, bringing his fingers to Henry’s cheek. Hearing his given name in that moment, coming from Alex’s lips, hits Henry deep. He shudders, exhaling, and feels something shift in the air around them. “What do you need?”

Alex gazes at him momentarily, his eyes dark and serious. 

“Come here,” Henry murmurs, and Alex surges forward, kissing him again. It carries an urgency this time, a sense of desperate need. Henry doesn’t think it’s only coming from him—or maybe it’s just he hopes it’s not. Either way, he tears into Alex’s mouth with his own, and he feels that ferocity matched in the cut of Alex’s teeth, the thrusting of his tongue, the way his nails scratch over Henry’s back. Alex grinds down on top of him, his erection apparent, pressing against Henry’s. 

It’s not enough. Henry fumbles with Alex’s trousers, trying to get them open, but it’s hard with how much Alex is moving on top of him. A frustrated noise escapes Henry’s mouth and Alex pulls back, laughing, knocking Henry’s hands out of his way as he unfastens them himself. Henry’s hands slide to his hips and he tugs, fingers underneath the waistband of Alex’s boxers, pushing and pushing until Alex sits up on his knees to allow for everything to come down. 

Henry’s hand is around Alex’s cock before he can even think, and Alex is kissing him again, laughing and moaning into his mouth, and Henry’s so fucking happy he wants to burst. He feels like he’s eighteen again, getting someone off for the first time, giddily high on adrenaline and power surging through his veins, knowing he can make Alex feel good. 

Alex lets Henry jerk him off, writhes in his lap, grabs his hair at the root, and after a minute, he pushes at the waistband of Henry’s pajama bottoms, too, until they’re low enough for Alex to get his hand around Henry’s cock. Then it’s just messy, open-mouthed kisses; Alex gasping into the crook of Henry’s neck; Henry’s head falling back as he moans; finding a rhythm together and losing it when one of them gets lost in pleasure and finding it again; and then Alex is coming between them, his hips jerking and jerking as he slicks up their stomachs. 

Henry pulls back to watch his face, finding his eyes closed and lips parted and brow furrowed, a beautiful grimace of pleasure. Alex rubs his fingers through the wetness and then grips Henry’s cock again, newly slick and heavenly. His face turns serious, concentrating, and it doesn’t take long for Henry to come, too, unbelievably turned on at Alex using his own come as lube, feverish from Alex’s kisses and the knowledge that he got Alex off using only his hands.

Henry tries to catch his breath. Alex swipes a finger through the mess on Henry’s stomach and brings it to his lips; Henry doesn’t know which one of them Alex is tasting. His mouth drops open at the eroticism of it.

“Do you have a towel, or should I just clean you up with my mouth?” Alex says with a mischievous smirk. Henry has to stop himself from telling Alex to do it, just to see if he really will, and nods toward the nightstand next to his bed.

“There are tissues in the drawer,” Henry says, breathless. Alex jumps up, kicking his trousers and boxers the rest of the way off, and brings a few tissues back to clean Henry up first, then himself. Henry’s still sitting there with his pajama bottoms half on, his head too fuzzy to know if he should do anything about it. Alex makes the decision for him, getting on his knees to tug them off, then kisses Henry’s thighs and cock and stomach and chest and mouth on his way back up again. 

He climbs into Henry’s lap, both of them fully naked, now, kissing him and kissing him, until Henry is dizzy from it.

“Finally,” Alex sighs happily, kissing him again. Henry wraps his arms tight around Alex’s waist and nuzzles his face against Alex’s chest. He flicks out his tongue against Alex’s nipple and Alex laughs, adding, “If you want to cuddle, can we at least do it in bed?”

“Fine,” Henry says with a self-conscious smile. He makes a snap decision and picks Alex up as he stands, tucking one arm under his knees and the other under his back, and Alex cackles and pounds his shoulder. Henry ignores his protests and tosses him on the bed.

“God, it’s annoyingly hot that you can do that.” Alex shoots him a glare as he scoots over, making room for Henry to get in, too. They climb under the covers. Alex presses up against Henry’s naked body immediately, wrapping a leg around his hip and twisting fingers into his hair. Henry holds him, unbearably content. 

They’re quiet for a few minutes while Alex plays with Henry’s hair. Henry’s thoughts drift around, not lingering on one topic too long for once, until Alex says, “So, do you want to talk about what happened?”

Henry knows Alex can feel him stiffen immediately. He tries to force his body to relax, despite panic seizing his chest and icing its way down his limbs.

“Not really,” he says.

“I don’t mean what happened between us. I mean whatever led up to it.” Alex is back to massaging his neck, pressing along his shoulder, down his spine. 

Henry sighs heavily. He hasn’t told Alex anything about the other half of the bargain he struck that’s led to Alex being in his bed every week; first, he was trying to pretend it hadn’t happened at all, and now, even though he feels like he can trust Alex, he’s not sure if that feeling is a mirage he’s created from the pleasurable haze of their physical intimacy.

“You can tell me stuff,” Alex says, as though he can hear Henry’s thoughts. “If I said a word to anyone, I’m pretty sure it’s in the contract that I’d be royally beheaded. The NDA alone was, like, fifty pages long.”

“That’s barbaric,” Henry says with a smile. “It can’t include that.”

“Let’s just say it was heavily implied in legalese that I would not live to see another day. But I wouldn’t say anything, anyway. And remember, I already agreed not to lie to you,” Alex adds in a rush before Henry can question it.

Henry chews on the inside of his lip, turning it over and over in his brain. Alex is still massaging him steadily, and he chooses that moment to trail soft, small kisses along Henry’s jawline.

Henry can’t help it. He’s weak.

“It’s the matter of my...engagement,” he says slowly. Alex’s eyes widen as he blinks.

“What engagement?”

Henry takes a deep breath. “My soon-to-be engagement. It’s the end of the bargain that I have to hold up, in exchange for this. You. No one told you about this during the interview process?”

“Uh, nope. Mostly it was undergoing various forms of torture to test my loyalty or whatever.”

“They did not seriously torture you.” 

“Not physically.” Alex grins. “So what’s the deal?”

“I came out to my family,” Henry says, shifting uncomfortably, “about a year ago. The short version of the story is that it didn’t go well. No one brought it up again after that, so I thought we were all just going to pretend it never happened. But then my grandmother—er, the queen—approached me with a bargain: I agree to enter into a sham marriage to keep up royal appearances and I can have, well...you.” 

“That’s fucked up,” Alex breathes. “Does the woman you’re supposed to get engaged to know it’s fake?”

“Yes, I only agreed to the terms on the condition that the woman I one day marry be...like me. Queer, and not in a position to be out. So that we could help each other,” Henry explains. “Last week, I met you after a dinner in which I was told such a woman had been located, and I was given a schedule about when I was expected to meet, court, propose to, and marry her. All within the next year.”

Alex’s hand stills on his neck, gripping it. “That must have been really hard to hear.”

Henry nods, closing his eyes. “Getting to know you has been...challenging for me, you know that. I’m sure you think I’m just a moody, overprivileged prick. But overall it’s been good for me, and I’ve been feeling so much more confident in who I am and what I want. Somehow I had put out of my mind that I agreed to the marriage part of this, or maybe I thought it was going to be so much further down the road, and hearing that they had found someone made it too...real.”

“Fuck.” Alex’s hand finds the side of his face. “Henry. I’m so sorry I pushed you last week.”

“You don’t need to apologize. I didn’t say anything. Besides, there’s a lot of gay people in a lot worse situations than me.” Henry echoes Alex’s words from their first meeting with a tinge of bitterness.

Alex cringes. “I’m sorry I said that. I was just being an ass and giving my opinion with like one percent of the information, as usual. And I am sorry I pushed you. I knew something had you fucked up, but I thought I could get your mind off it, or something. I didn’t realize it was so...I didn’t realize. I wouldn’t have pushed.”

Henry brings his hand to Alex’s cheek in return, rubs his thumb over it. He’s gratified by the apology for their first meeting now that Alex knows him a little. “I don’t blame you at all. Usually just thinking about you can cheer me up.” Henry’s face heats up at his own confession. Alex grins cheekily at him. He brings his hand down Henry’s side, then grabs his butt, squeezing.

“Interesting. Why’s that?”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.” Henry captures Alex’s lips in a kiss, and Alex is smiling into it. “I like that you’ll kiss me now.”

Henry’s heart twinges. As he thinks back over everything that’s transpired between them in the last hour, his panic starts to build up, making him jittery.

“Tell me something,” he says, because otherwise he’ll just force Alex to leave again and spend the rest of the night alone in his anxiety. “How did you...get into this line of work?”

Alex’s eyes search his face, as though looking for which version of the answer to give him. After a pause, he half-shrugs. “I had been working hard, really hard, in D.C. in a nine to five kind of job, except it was more like any and all hours of the day and night for me. I’ll work myself down to the bone if my sister’s not there looking out for me. It’s not good.”

Henry watches him swallow, tries to imagine this relaxed, confident version of Alex strung out from exhaustion and shaky from over-caffeination as he works through the night. It’s not a pleasant thought.

“I had a friend in sex work who had told me a lot about it, and I started thinking about how nice it would be to get out of the capitalist machine, not to be another cog in this wheel that all leads to oppression and marginalization,” Alex continues. “Instead I can take money from the wealthy and powerful but keep my own power, you know? I don’t want to work toward someone else’s goals. I had some connections in politics so I started getting jobs with closeted politicians, and I liked it. It has its ups and downs, like any other job. But I can’t imagine going back to a regular job. My freedom is worth too much.”

Henry listens with surprise, positively dumbfounded that Alex’s reasons for becoming an escort lay primarily in resisting capitalism. He feels like he has a million follow-up questions he wants to ask, but all that comes out is, “What do you find to be the downs?” He’s terrified Alex will say something to shatter the illusion he’s built up about their relationship, but he needs to know, all the same.

Alex pauses again before answering. “You hate some of the meetings you go to, right? You’re bored, you’re irritated. It’s like that. I was always a pretty horny kid, I liked sex a lot and I was good at it. It’s not hard for me to find something about a guy to feel attracted to, but for some it’s just...not there. And guys can be dicks. Or else I’m just not in the mood, but it’s my job. So I hate having to take Viagra or whatever, but sometimes it just won’t work otherwise.” At seeing Henry’s face, he adds, “Yes, I’ve had to take Viagra for some jobs. The not-so-glamorous side to my work.”

“Have you ever taken it...with me?” Henry feels like a complete idiot for the extent to which he needs to know the answer. Alex laughs. 

“Oh, sweetheart. Are you worried about that? That’s so cute.” He pinches Henry's cheek and Henry bats his hand away.

“That didn’t answer my question.”

“No, I haven’t taken it with you. I’ve brought it, just in case, to be completely honest. But I wasn’t fucking with you earlier...you’re super hot and I’m totally attracted to you. You make my job really easy.” Alex winks at him. Henry flushes, irritated at himself for how relieved he feels. “Also,” Alex adds with a smirk, “you haven’t really needed my dick to be hard before tonight. Even though it has been.”

Henry bites his lip, trying not to smile at the confirmation that Alex gets turned on sucking him off. “It has?”

“You know it has.”

Henry flushes an even deeper red. There’s a brief silence as they look at each other.

“Anything else you’ve been wanting to know?” Alex brushes Henry’s hair off his forehead, curls fingers around Henry’s ear. Henry’s mind turns over, distracted. Now that he’s touched Alex, he wants to do everything to him, but mostly he just wants to make him feel as good as he makes Henry feel.

“What do you like to do? Erm, in bed?” He forces the question out. 

“This ain’t about me. I’m into whatever you’re into.”

“I’d be even more into it if I knew you were enjoying it, too.”

“You don’t have to worry about that.” Alex leans forward and presses a kiss to Henry’s lips. Henry’s so pleased to be kissing him that he decides to let it go, which he suspects is what Alex was counting on.

“One more thing,” Henry says hesitantly. Alex pulls back, his eyes soft and warm. “You can say no if you want, but I was wondering if you’d like to come a little earlier on Mondays to join me for dinner.”

“Would you like that?”

“Yes. I’ve enjoyed talking with you these last few weeks. I don’t want you to feel obligated, though.”

“Sounds like absolute torture. What time do you want me?” Alex grins, and Henry’s heart lifts up in his chest.

“Seven okay?”

“Perfect.”

— 

Henry’s itching to get away from the palace, so he travels to the Holleran family estate in Hampshire for his first dinner with Nora. He knows they’ve met several times at various social engagements, but they’ve never spent one-on-one time together. He always sensed a bit of a rebel in her, something that reminded him of Bea. That feeling makes sense now. 

The helicopter lands on the estate’s rooftop helipad, giving Henry an impressive overview of the acres of beautiful land owned by the family, green and rolling. The Duke meets him there with a friendly smile and a firm handshake and leads Henry down into the main part of the house.

“We’re so honored to have you here, Your Highness. I know the circumstances are unusual, but all the same, we’re big supporters of yours and Nora always had a kind word to say about you. She’s a, er, spirited girl, so I do hope she doesn’t do anything too...inappropriate.” The Duke coughs.

“Don’t worry, sir. I’ve enjoyed speaking with her in the past. I’m sure we’ll have a lovely dinner,” Henry says, smiling his most bland smile. The Duke smiles back.

“Excellent, excellent. Well, here you are. Don’t hesitate to let the staff know if you require anything, anything at all. I’ll leave the two of you alone. Have a lovely evening.” The Duke bows his head, and Henry nods in thanks.

All of a sudden, he’s in the dining room. He finds himself face to face with Nora, who’s got an impish grin and dark, curly hair pinned back behind her ear. Even as gay as he is, Henry can see that she’s extremely beautiful, dressed in a vibrant green dress. He feels a kind of grim satisfaction knowing that at least she won’t have to deal with some pervert of a husband objectifying her at every turn.

Nora pulls him in for a hug, and Henry finds himself returning it gratefully.

“It’s nice to see you again,” Henry says.

“You too, Your Highness.” Nora pulls back with a mischievous glint to her eye.

“Please, call me Henry.”

They sit to eat and make a little small talk about the weather, the events circuit, their more famous family members. Nora’s easy to talk to, and Henry’s just starting to feel more comfortable when she sits back in her chair and surveys him over her glass of wine. Henry looks down at his plate of chicken and vegetables, not sure what she’s thinking.

“I knew there was something different about you,” she says finally, and even with the kind of company he’s in, Henry’s throat tightens at the acknowledgement that she knows his secret. “I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. On the surface, you seem like the perfect prince. But I always thought you seemed a little...sad, too.”

“I want to be happy,” Henry says. It’s hard to admit; as the words come out, a painful, unspecified yearning blooms in his chest, weighty and familiar all at once. “I don’t think it’s quite in the cards for me.”

Nora looks at him straight on, no trace of pity or sympathy in her eyes. “I get it. I’m not going to lie to you and say you’ll get what you want one day. I don’t envy the position you’re in. And I know our situations aren’t exactly the same, but I probably understand better than anyone what you’re going through.”

“How did you meet her?” Henry plucks up the courage to ask. “Your...girlfriend?”

“I prefer to call her my secret lover,” Nora says with a grin. Henry laughs. “She wrote a feature article about me for the Resident, that load of rubbish, some angle about maintaining my status as a society woman while working as a data scientist. We got to know each other over several hours of interviewing, and the interview kind of dragged on into drinks, and then dinner. I’ve known that I was bi forever, so I knew exactly what was going on on my end, but I didn’t know what she was thinking.” 

Nora shakes her head and takes a drink of wine. Henry listens intently, fascinated at the idea of just meeting someone casually and somehow falling in love with them. It sounds so dreamy, like something that only happens in films. “We both kept trying to drag out the evening. Finally, we had no excuse anymore. I told her I had one more thing I wanted her to know, but made her promise to keep it off the record. Then I kissed her.” Nora shrugs. 

“That’s so brave,” Henry says, in awe. 

“My stakes aren’t as high as yours,” Nora tells him. “Obviously, it’d be a huge scandal. But I knew by the end of the day that even if it didn’t go the way I wanted, she wouldn’t fuck me over. Her journalistic standard of ethics is too high.” Nora grins.

“It’s really good you’ve been able to work it out.” Henry spears a piece of carrot but doesn’t eat it. “And that your family’s willing to work with you on it.”

“Yeah. I can’t imagine the alternative at this point.”

Henry reaches for his wine glass, swirling it around before taking a long drink. He looks back up to meet Nora’s eyes. “How do you feel about the idea of being married to a prince?”

“It’s definitely not what I envisioned for my life,” Nora says, laughing. “I didn’t want to ever get married. I know it would change everything, but if it’s what I need to do to be with the woman I love, I’ll do it.”

“D’you ever think about just...running away?” Henry asks tentatively. He hopes she doesn’t infer from the question just how deeply he’s thought about it himself.

“Of course. All the time. But at the end of the day, I can’t imagine abandoning my family. It’s not fair of them to put me in this position, but it wouldn’t be fair of me to do that to them, either.”

Talking to Nora is refreshing. She’s so straightforward and analytical that it’s easy for Henry to speak honestly with her, and even to see this situation for what it is—a friendly business transaction. The rest of the night passes in easy conversation, and by the end of it, something has settled inside Henry that he didn’t realize had been knocked loose. 

On the ride home, going over the conversation in his mind, he comes to understand that a big part of his fear was the unknown of _who_ he’d be spending the rest of his life intertwined with. Now, he can see himself developing a real friendship with Nora; he can even look forward to the idea of having someone who understands what he’s going through by his side for all of it. Suddenly, it doesn’t seem like the worst possibility. Not at all.

Henry gets ready for bed smiling, feeling better than he’s felt in several days. As he splashes water on his face, the only thing he can think is that he wishes Alex was there, brushing his teeth next to him. There’s something about the momentousness of the day, the feelings he’s experiencing, that makes Henry want to share it with him.

Henry allows himself a moment to imagine what things could be like. It might not be the life he’s always wanted, but it might not be that bad of a life after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it late? Are you tired? Thinking about going to sleep? Now would be a good time to do that! Have a good rest and come back tomorrow. :) <3


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am just loving hearing all your thoughts, reactions, and speculations. Thank you so much for reading and making my day! <3

On Monday, Henry gets to the kitchen early, anticipatory energy manifesting in the form of unnecessary promptness. He considered inviting Alex back to the formal dining room, but things have changed since their last dinner, and the cozy eat-in nook of his personal kitchen feels more appropriate now. 

He slides into the built-in, dark wood booth to wait, the dishes already on the table and ready for them. It smells good, but Henry’s stomach is in knots. He’s not sure why he’s so nervous to have dinner with Alex now. He tells himself it will be nice, it will be easy, they’ll have a good time, but suddenly he’s back to wondering what the hell they’re going to talk about.

Alex appears at seven exactly, his entire face lighting up with a smile when he sees Henry waiting for him. The knots in Henry’s stomach tighten momentarily, then start to release. 

It’s easy to forget what it’s like between them when he’s only with Alex once a week and the rest of his days are scheduled minute by minute, when he gets in his head about the fact that he’s paying Alex to see him, when he remembers that it’s not a real relationship and never will be. But when they’re actually together, Alex always makes him feel like he’s there simply for the pleasure of Henry’s company. He’s not sure if Alex actually likes spending time with him, or if he’s just really good at his job.

He suspects Alex would say it’s a bit of both.

Henry stands to greet him and Alex slips his arms around Henry’s waist, pulling him close for a hug that lasts longer than Henry expects it to. Alex tilts his head up, a lazy smirk on his face and a question in his eyes, and Henry leans down to answer it, meeting his lips in a soft kiss. Alex heats it up quickly, pressing their bodies flush together from knee to shoulder and licking into Henry’s mouth, and Henry steadies himself back against the wall so he doesn’t buckle.

“Hi,” Alex says, right up in his space, barely a centimeter away.

“Hello,” Henry replies, unable to stop a smile from spreading across his lips at Alex’s enthusiastic greeting.

“You look hot,” Alex murmurs, sliding one hand down and grabbing Henry’s arse. Henry laughs.

“So do you.” He plays with the hem of Alex’s fitted black t-shirt, letting his fingers dip underneath and smooth over his skin. It seems Alex took a cue from his casual dress the previous week; it’s Henry’s first time seeing him in jeans, and it’s frankly distracting. Alex grins.

“Please tell me I get suck you off before we eat.” Alex grinds his hips against Henry’s, and Henry almost chokes.

“Oh, God, Alex—”

Alex starts to sink to his knees, but Henry grabs his arms and keeps him up, pressing another hard kiss to his mouth.

“The food is already here. We can’t let it get cold.” Henry’s words sound weak even to his own ears.

“Can’t they just make you something fresh on demand?” Alex drags his tongue down Henry’s throat.

“I—er—I try not to inconvenience the staff if I don’t have to.” Henry’s breathing is definitely getting ragged.

“Mmm,” Alex says, his hands somehow all over Henry’s body, leaving a trail of fevered flesh in its wake. “You’re just so fucking sexy. But I can be patient, I guess.” Alex pouts, but his eyes are sparkling, palms coming to rest on Henry’s hips. Henry closes his eyes briefly, seeking strength. He lets Alex suck one last kiss into his neck before taking him firmly by the shoulders and moving him back two steps.

“I look forward to continuing this,” Henry says, “after we eat.”

“Fine,” Alex says, all mischief, but he takes another step back and turns toward the table, surveying the place settings. “Where do you want me?”

Henry snorts. Alex wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

“Either place is fine. Can I get you a drink?”

“What do you have?” Alex slides into the booth. Henry pretends not to notice how much he likes seeing him here, in his private kitchen, looking right at home. 

There’s a full bar of options, and Alex requests whiskey. Henry grabs two glasses and the bottle, at which Alex raises his eyebrows but doesn’t comment. When he slides into his side of the booth, their knees knock together and his stomach squirms in excitement.

“So, how was your week?” Alex asks, digging into his chicken tikka masala with enthusiasm.

“It was all right. Actually, I...” Henry trails off, suddenly faced with the possibility of telling Alex about Nora and finding himself nervous about it. Alex cocks his head, waiting. “I met the woman I’m meant to marry. Well, I’d met her before, but it was the first time we’d had a real conversation.”

“How was it?”

Henry’s food suddenly feels a lot harder to chew and swallow. Telling Alex about this makes it feel so real. “It was...nice, honestly. She’s an impressive woman, and she understands the position I’m in. It made the notion of getting married more palatable, at least.”

“That’s good, right?” Alex is eyeing him closely; Henry has no doubt he’s analyzing every little facial tic.

“It’s a positive, yes.” Henry works to stay as neutral as possible.

“Sorry. We can change the subject,” Alex says quickly. Despite Henry’s greatest attempts to appear normal, which generally are effective for pacifying an entire nation of people, Alex can somehow still read him. It’s slightly disconcerting, but comforting at the same time. He feels seen.

Henry smiles at him, their eyes locking across the table. “It’s fine. It’s a good thing. Tell me about your week.”

“Oh, y’know. Just the usual.”

Henry laughs. “I don’t really know what’s usual for you, aside from you coming here.”

Alex takes a drink of whiskey. He’s got that look on his face again, like he’s considering what—or how much—he wants to say. “I’m in a recreational lacrosse league, we play twice a week. I live with my sister, June, so she and I spend a lot of time together and I help her with her work sometimes. She’s a writer and likes me to read over her stuff. I’m thinking about looking for my own place, though.”

“Why’s that?”

“I love June, she’s my best friend. She basically supported me while I got set up here, because she had a steady job and I didn’t know if this—” Alex gestures between Henry and himself, “—was going to work out. So she let me move in with her, but it’s always felt like I’m just crashing at her place. Now that I’m, uh, feeling more secure, I think it’s time for me to move out. Plus, she’s always with her girlfriend lately, but they never come to the apartment when I’m there, and I kind of want to just get out of her hair.”

“Your sister is queer as well?” Henry can’t keep the surprise out of his voice.

Alex grins. “Yep, just a couple of queers. Makes the case for genetics, right?”

“Do your parents know?”

“Yeah, my parents are cool.” Alex says this offhandedly, then looks up at Henry, slightly alarmed. “Sorry, I didn’t mean—I mean, I know we’re super lucky to have folks like that.”

“It’s all right. I’m glad they’re accepting. Do they...know what you do for a living? Does June?”

Alex chews slowly. “June knows, but my parents don’t. They’re not _that_ accepting. They think I’m, like, doing odd jobs over here and bumming off of her. I’m sure they’re just waiting for me to run out of money and come home. I’m trying to figure out a way to explain my new financial circumstances ‘cause I want to, like, pay off their mortgages and stuff, y’know, make life easy on them. I haven’t really thought of anything yet, though.”

“Are you making enough from this that you’ll be able to do that?” Henry realizes he has no clue what Alex’s compensation is like.

“Um, yeah. Not, like, yet, but it shouldn’t take too long to save up, I guess. Is this weird to talk about? Didn’t you, like, approve the contract and everything? I guess I just assumed you were familiar with it.”

Henry takes a long drink of whiskey, welcoming the burn down his throat. “I’m...not familiar with it, actually. The staff took care of everything behind the scenes. But I’m glad you’re being compensated well.”

Alex grins crookedly at him. “Sorry. It’s weird. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“No, it’s all right. Is there anything in there I should know about?” Henry laughs a little. 

When Alex speaks again, his voice is pitched low, and he looks up at Henry through his eyelashes. “You should know that you can do pretty much whatever you want with me, whenever you want.”

Henry immediately experiences a pull of arousal in his belly. He knows Alex can tell; he’s too fucking easy. He downs the rest of his whiskey and wipes his mouth with his napkin. “Are you finished?”

Alex tosses back the rest of his whiskey as well, then stands up. “Do we need to clear the plates or anything?”

Henry stares at him for a second, then moves to stand with him. “No, you can just leave them.”

“Do, like, little elves come in the night and just clean everything up?”

“Yes, house elves, actually.”

“Free Dobby,” Alex says with a roguish grin and grabs the bottle of whiskey off the table. Henry wants to devour him. Instead, he takes his hand and leads him out into the hallway, back to the stairs and up to his bedroom. Alex doesn’t let go of his hand the entire way, and when Henry glances over at him, he looks back, his expression soft and gentle and filled with intention.

Henry’s not used to this feeling—the tension simmering in the air between them, the slow build of anticipation with the shared knowledge of where it’s leading. It’s a different kind of anticipation than waiting for Alex to come to his room for one purpose only, and he welcomes the change. It feels like they’re in it together.

When they enter Henry’s room, Henry’s the one who closes and locks it behind them, and Alex immediately pins him to the door with his hips, then takes a lazy swig of whiskey from the bottle. Henry grabs it out of his hand, taking one himself, and sets the bottle down on the small table within reach. 

Henry pushes his hands in Alex’s hair, and Alex’s hands settle on his waist as he looks up at him. The air surrounding them crackles with energy. Henry loves looking into Alex’s eyes when they’re like this, dark and expressive and beautiful, and feeling pure _want_ course through his veins. It’s addicting.

“Do you know what you want to do with me tonight?” Alex’s voice is rough. 

“I have some ideas.” Henry tugs at Alex’s hair and Alex’s mouth drops open a little, then morphs into a pleased smile.

“What if I have some ideas, too?”

Henry knows a power play when he sees one. He decides it’s been enough time of passive reception; he wants to make Alex _want_ the same way he does, wants to hear Alex’s gravelly voice moaning his name. In one swift, smooth movement, he spins Alex around and gets him pinned against the door instead, then leans in, stopping a breath away from his lips.

“Your ideas will have to wait until I’m in a more Socratic mood,” he murmurs.

“God, it’s hot when you talk dirty,” Alex says, grinning, and Henry can’t help rolling his eyes before he crushes their mouths together.

There’s nothing slow or deliberate about this kiss. The electric sexual tension between them comes to a head in a mess of lips and teeth and tongues, and Alex is already moaning and rolling his hips up against Henry’s, practically begging for more. It’s sexy as hell. 

Henry likes feeling like he’s in control for once, like he’s clear-headed enough to know exactly how he’s going to take Alex apart but still turned on enough that he’s enjoying every fucking second of Alex’s touch. He shoves a thigh between Alex’s legs and Alex grinds down on him immediately, the pressure of his half-hard cock through his jeans sending arousal jolting through Henry’s body. He still can’t believe that being with him turns Alex on, like it’s that easy.

Alex’s hands roam all over the planes of his back, sneaking up his shirt and pressing Henry harder against him. He keeps pushing up, up, taking the shirt with him, until Henry lifts his arms and they break apart momentarily to allow for Alex to remove it. Before they come back together, Henry tugs on the hem of Alex’s shirt, too, and has it over his head in a flash. 

Alex grins at him, already breathing a little harder, while Henry takes a moment to enjoy running his hands over Alex’s chest, thumbing over a pert nipple, trailing his finger down the center until he reaches Alex’s abdomen, clenching beneath his hand. Then he kisses Alex again, rubbing his thumbs along the waistband of Alex’s jeans while Alex goes back to clinging to him and rutting down on his leg.

Alex tears his mouth away from Henry’s and brings it to Henry’s collarbone, licking and sucking along it. Henry fists into Alex’s hair, taking a deep breath and trying to focus on his plan, not letting Alex distract him. When Alex’s lips close over his nipple and his fingers fumble at the fastening of his trousers, Henry stills his hand. Alex pulls back, looking up at him in confusion.

“Not me tonight,” Henry tells him. “You can take your own off for me, instead.”

Alex looks up at Henry, biting his lip around a smile, then moves his fingers to his own jeans. Henry’s hands run lightly up and down his sides, and he takes pleasure in the shiver that goes through Alex’s body at his light touch, at the slight change in his expression. He pushes his jeans down and kicks out of them, left only in black boxer briefs and looking sexy as all fucking hell.

Henry presses one more light kiss to his mouth, then drops to his knees. Alex gasps a little and it fills Henry with glowing warmth.

He pauses for a moment in front of Alex’s bulging underwear, just taking in the gorgeous sight before him. He places his hands on Alex’s thighs and drags them down, scratching his thumbnail slightly against the skin. Alex makes a breathy noise and when Henry looks up at him, he’s met with fierce eye contact before Alex’s head falls back against the door with a thunk and he says, “Fucking _hell.”_

Henry takes his time with Alex’s legs, enjoying touching parts of him that he hasn’t yet touched. He likes finding out that Alex is a little ticklish behind his knees and that his inner thighs are extremely sensitive as he responds with gasp after gasp of Henry touching and kissing him there. Henry’s enjoying his reactions so much that he almost forgets to be nervous, forgets that he has a greater purpose he’s trying to accomplish here, until he looks up and sees a wet spot on the front of Alex’s underwear and remembers what he wanted to do.

Henry sucks in a deep breath, then takes Alex’s hips in a bruising grip and presses his open mouth to the wet spot he sees. Alex’s hips jerk and he bangs a fist against the door behind him.

“Fuck, Henry,” he moans. It sounds as sweet as Henry always thought it would. Henry pushes past his nerves and mouths along Alex’s length, rubs circles next to Alex’s hip bones with his thumbs. He hasn’t given head in a while, but he’s been fantasizing about doing it to Alex enough that he thinks he’ll be okay.

Henry soaks Alex’s boxer-briefs as he tongues his cock through the fabric. Alex’s rough, gasping breaths spur him on, and he finally catches his thumbs in the waistband and pulls them down to his ankles. He may have touched Alex for the first time the week before, but he’s not prepared for having his cock at eye level. It’s deep red and glistening at the tip, hard and curving up, and knowing that he’s responsible for causing it thrills Henry to no fucking end.

“Alex,” he murmurs, wetting his lips with his tongue and waiting until Alex looks down at him. “Don’t come. Okay?”

Alex groans. “Are you so confident in your abilities, Highness?”

Henry growls in response. “Don’t. Or I’ll be very disappointed.”

“I think I might come from this fucking visual alone.” Alex gazes down at him, hunger in his eyes, and Henry takes Alex’s cock in his mouth as far as he can, then sucks his way back up the length. 

Alex bangs his fist against the door three more times, whimpering loudly. Henry goes down again, comes back up, getting used to the feel of Alex in his mouth, figuring out how to position his lips and how to use his tongue. Once he thinks he has a handle on it, he wraps his fingers around the base and starts sucking and jerking Alex in tandem. 

Curses tumble from Alex’s mouth as easy as breathing, punctuated by groans and sharp gasps. Henry feels Alex’s hand reach tentatively for his head; Alex brushes the hair back off his forehead, the gesture full of care. Henry focuses on applying steady pressure, on flicking his tongue playfully against the underside of Alex’s cock, on keeping his lips slick and wet, on trying to make Alex feel as good as he can. He’s surprised when Alex starts talking in earnest.

“God, Henry, you’re so fucking beautiful, I want to look at you like this forever. Fuck, you’re perfect, _baby,_ it’s so good, I want you so much. God, you feel so fucking good.”

Hearing Alex call him _baby_ liquifies Henry’s insides. He blushes furiously at Alex’s praise, so fucking turned on that he’s beyond self-conscious anymore. He feels Alex’s thighs trembling, and all of a sudden Alex’s hand tightens in his hair and he says, “Sweetheart. Stop. Or I’m gonna—”

Henry pulls back, looks up at Alex looking back down at him, a picture of debauchery with dark eyes and his mouth dropped open, panting, chest heaving. _Fucking gorgeous._ Henry tries to catch his breath, resisting the urge to start up again and make Alex come down his throat, or to nuzzle his face into Alex’s groin like he wants to.

“Where the fuck did you learn to do that?” Alex says. He’s glaring at Henry a little, but it’s playful and full of heat. “I swear to God, I know I said you could do whatever you wanted with me but if you send me on my way now—”

“I’m not,” Henry interrupts, getting to his feet. Alex immediately gets up in his space, reaching for a kiss, and Henry gives it to him, lets Alex taste himself on Henry’s tongue. “I want to fuck you.”

“Oh, fuck, yes,” Alex breathes. His hands go immediately to Henry’s waistband. “Can I _please_ take these off now?”

“All right,” Henry says, unable to stop himself from smiling at Alex’s response. 

Alex makes quick work of the rest of his clothes, hands lingering over Henry’s bare arse, and then Henry takes his hands and pulls him over to the bed. Alex flops himself down, placing his hands behind his head and grinning at Henry from the lush pillows. Henry’s heart melts at the sight of him, naked and comfortable and waiting for him. He says, “I want to get you ready this time.”

“Works for me.” Alex’s smile turns lascivious. 

Henry grabs lube out of his nightstand and joins him on the bed. Alex immediately pulls Henry on top of him and down for a long kiss, hands cradling Henry’s jaw. Henry moans into his mouth, totally undone by the softness of his lips contrasted with the hard strength of his body, the gentleness of his touch and the urgency of his cock pressed into Henry’s thigh. 

Everything about this night has been so perfect; Henry’s stomach flutters suddenly with nerves when he thinks about how poorly this went last time. He doesn’t want to fuck it up again.

Alex notices. He pulls back from the kiss but presses their foreheads together, holding Henry so close he can feel Alex’s puffs of breath against his lips.

“Hey,” Alex murmurs. “You okay?”

“‘M good,” Henry says, hesitant. “I just don’t want to let you down again.”

“Henry.” Alex pulls Henry into his neck, wrapping his arms around Henry’s shoulders and holding him tight. “You have never, and could never, let me down.”

“I just—” Henry takes a breath. It’s easier to talk, somehow, with his face in Alex’s neck, not having to look into those beautiful eyes. “I want this to be good for you. Not just good. I want to make you feel the way you make me feel.”

 _“Baby.”_ There it is again. Henry has an intense, immediate emotional reaction to it, and he squeezes his eyes shut as hard as he can. “The fact that you’re even thinking about that means fucking everything to me. You’ve already made me feel fucking incredible tonight, okay? Anything else is a bonus. I just want to make you happy.”

Henry clings to Alex for another moment, then lifts his head, gazing into Alex’s eyes. They’re clear and warm and somehow, Henry believes every word Alex is saying. 

He ducks his head down to meet Alex’s parted lips in a languid, slow-burning kiss that ends with them both thrusting up against each other and gasping into each other’s mouths. Henry fumbles for the lube, forgotten in the bedclothes next to them. The sound of the cap popping open has Alex blinking his eyes open and looking at him.

“Can I?” Henry tries to say, but it comes out a whisper.

“Please.” Alex’s legs fall open as Henry pulls back a little, breathless at the sight of him. He coats his shaky fingers in lube and settles between Alex’s thighs, nudging his cheeks apart. Alex rolls back, bringing his knees up to his chest to give Henry easier access, and the first touch of Henry’s slick fingertips to his hole makes Alex moan, sending a jolt of arousal through Henry’s body. He can’t believe he gets to touch him like this. “Come on,” Alex goads him, snapping Henry out of his reverie and causing the corners of his mouth to curl up.

Henry presses forward with his middle finger, watching Alex’s face. He meets Henry’s eyes as his mouth falls open, and Henry delights in the deep flush he can see spreading over Alex’s chest, high in his cheeks. He fucks him slowly, until Alex’s hips are snapping to meet his hand, and then he adds another finger, and another. Alex’s body accommodates him so beautifully; sliding his fingers into him feels _incredible,_ and Henry suddenly starts trembling at the thought of being inside him. Alex’s breath is coming fast and shallow, interrupted only by little moans that hit Henry deep in his chest.

“How are you feeling?” Henry asks, anxious to know.

“I’m good,” Alex tells him, and he sounds relaxed and happy. “I hope you’re planning to fuck me soon.”

A laugh escapes Henry. He twists his fingers deep inside Alex, watching his face contort in pleasure, a thrill running through him at the sight of it. “How do you want to do this?”

“You’re in charge tonight,” Alex says, stroking his cock lazily. Everything has been building up in Henry all night, his dick painfully hard and untouched after everything, and seeing Alex touching himself, eyes bright, while Henry’s buried knuckle-deep inside him is almost too much. He withdraws his fingers and bites his lip when he sees Alex’s hole gaping for him after.

“I want you on your hands and knees,” Henry says, because he doesn’t think he can bear to look into Alex’s eyes any longer.

“Perfect,” Alex says with a smirk. 

“Do you have a condom?”

“We don’t need one.” Alex stretches out his legs and rolls over, getting onto all fours and shaking his ass in the air. 

Henry is momentarily speechless, but recovers enough to say, “We don’t?”

“It’s in the contract that we both get tested, we’re all good.”

“You’re sure?” Henry moves behind Alex, running his hands over the curves of Alex’s arse as he gets up on his knees. He can’t help pressing his thumb into Alex again and Alex fucking _mewls,_ the sound music to Henry's ears.

“Sweetheart, I’m gonna need you to hurry the fuck up.” 

Henry laughs and slicks his cock with lube before getting himself into position. All the anticipation of the night hits him at once, his nerves singing with tension and anxiety and excitement, and suddenly all he wants is to look Alex in the face, to see every second of his reaction, but he knows it’s for the best like this.

Henry moves forward and slides into Alex easily, and Alex’s hips push back to meet him, and all the feelings Henry’s experiencing narrow down to the connection between them, the explosive intensity of being inside him. For a second, he can’t breathe—but a soft moan from Alex brings him back down, and he pulls back and fucks into him again, setting a quick rhythm of powerful, bursting thrusts that has them both gasping within moments. 

Alex feels like heaven, tight and clenching around him, and Henry thinks Alex is feeling good too from the way he’s ripping at the sheets with his fingers and spitting out curses and praises and groans. The effort that Henry’s exerting and the pleasure wracking his body make him unsteady on his knees, so he grips Alex’s hips tight and tries to hang on. Those slick, slapping noises, coupled with the words Alex is grunting and his own desperate breaths and moans, sound perverse and incredible to Henry’s ears. 

“Henry, please,” Alex groans at some point, and Henry snaps to attention again from the haze of pleasure that had descended over him. “Please let me come.”

Something unravels inside Henry at Alex’s request. He told Alex not to come when he sucked him off, but he didn’t know Alex was still waiting for his permission, and the fact that he apparently has been this entire time sends Henry into a realm of arousal he didn’t know was possible. 

Henry keeps up his thrusts but steadies himself to reach for Alex’s cock, curving himself around Alex’s body, and he pulls him off in time with the snapping of his hips, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to Alex’s shoulderblade and finally gathering himself enough to say, “Yes, come for me, Alex.”

“Fuck—thank you—baby,” Alex says between pants, and his entire body pulls taut momentarily before his hips start to jerk as he spills over Henry’s hand. 

All of it is too much for Henry, the asking for permission, the feel of Alex tightening around him, the knowledge that he made Alex come like this—it sends Henry over the edge. He buries himself deep inside Alex and bites into his shoulder as pure pleasure wracks every forgotten piece of his body. Alex whimpers while Henry pulses inside him, and the thought occurs to Henry that Alex will take his come home with him that night. He chokes out a moan.

Henry finally pulls back, every centimeter of his skin oversensitive and overwhelmed. Alex collapses with a sigh. Henry falls next to him, careful not to land on top of him, not sure if Alex will want space. As though answering his silent question, Alex rolls over and flings a leg over Henry’s thigh, finds Henry’s cheek with the pads of his fingers and presses a soft, barely there, open-mouthed kiss to his lips. Henry sinks into it gladly, relief spreading through him at the face-to-face connection, at seeing Alex’s eyes again, glimmering with an emotion Henry can’t discern.

Alex snuggles into him, tucking his head under Henry’s chin. His hair tickles Henry’s jaw, and they’re stuck together with sweat everywhere their skin touches, and Henry is as content as he can remember being since his father died. 

They tremble in silence for several minutes, maybe longer; Henry can’t tell how much time passes, because he thinks he could stay like this forever. He lets himself drift back into those fantasies about what this kind of life could look like in the future: coming home from endless public appearances with his wife or his family, giving away pieces of himself that never seem to be enough, molding his words and actions to be everything they want him to be...and then forgetting it all, here with Alex, the one person with whom he can just be himself. The lock on his door is nothing compared to the deep sense of safety Alex inspires in him. 

It’s more than he ever thought he would get, and he’s suddenly filled to the brim with gratitude for the beautiful boy wrapped around him who makes him feel so cared for, so real, so alive. Like what he wants matters, for once in his godforsaken joke of a life.

“Seriously, where did you learn how to do that?” Alex murmurs, cutting into his thoughts. Henry laughs, a little embarrassed.

“You enjoyed it?”

“Enjoyed it?” Alex chuckles, mouth open against his chest. “That’s putting it lightly. I can’t remember another time I _wanted_ to beg someone to let me come. But for some reason, you making me do it was, like, the biggest fucking turn on. Just like every other fucking thing you do.”

“Stop,” Henry says, flushing uncontrollably. “You’re going way overboard.”

“I mean every word, sweetheart. I’m not gonna forget how that felt anytime soon.”

Henry doesn’t know what to say, so he says, “Alex,” a hushed exhalation. It sounds reverent, even to his own ears. Alex pulls back a little to grin at him, and Henry’s entire heart crumples in his chest.

—

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Henry mutters. Pez cackles with glee at his side in the backseat of a dark town car. Henry feels himself smiling against his will.

“Don’t you feel free? You’ve been locked up even more so than normal lately.” As usual, Pez goes straight to the issue.

“It’s been...a lot. With the whole marriage thing, and...the other thing.” Pez wiggles his eyebrows suggestively; Henry shoves him. “But it’s your birthday, and we’re celebrating you tonight, and I’m quite happy to forget about everything for a while.”

“I’m glad you feel that way, because the bar we’re going to isn’t exactly approved by the crown.”

“What they don’t know won’t hurt them.” 

Pez whoops and thumps Henry on the back. “There’s my boy. I’ve missed you, Haz.”

Henry grins at him. “I’ve missed you too.”

Pez is right. The bar they’re dropped off at is gritty and dirty, floors sticky with years of spilled drinks and a dark dance floor overflowing with people crushed up against each other. Henry pulls his cap down lower over his eyes as Pez orders them a pair of double shots—whiskey. 

It’s been three weeks since Henry fucked Alex, the taste of whiskey on his tongue. Three weeks of dinners filled with arguing and laughter, three weeks of Alex pressing Henry up against every available surface and kissing him senseless, three weeks of Henry coming deep inside him while Alex urges him on with his body and his words. Henry’s mind goes straight there, thinking about Alex taking pulls from the bottle before he—

“Cheers, mate.” Pez holds up his glass, interrupting Henry’s thoughts of Alex—the only thing he seems capable of thinking about lately.

“Happy birthday,” Henry shouts over the thumping bass, “to the best friend I could ever ask for.”

Pez pretends to be embarrassed at the attention, and they clink glasses before tossing back the drinks. It’s not as good as the whiskey Henry has at home, and it burns acidic down his throat, but he welcomes the unpleasant sensation; he prefers it to the numbness that keeps creeping over him ever since Shaan approached him about the arrangement.

They sit and chat at the bar for a while, Pez ordering them a steady supply of drinks and filling Henry in on his most recent travels. He tries to ask Henry how things are going (with a raised eyebrow to indicate that by _things,_ he means Alex), but Henry brushes it off and chatters on about Bea and her travels around America for her royal world tour instead. After they’re sufficiently tipsy, Pez looks at Henry with an evil smile that can only indicate he wants to dance. Henry sighs, long-suffering, and lets Pez drag him onto the packed dance floor. It is his birthday, after all.

He hasn’t been recognized yet, and he feels even more anonymous out here, crammed among bodies writhing to some garbage music that singes his eardrums. At some point, Pez disappears into the crowd, dancing up on anyone who invites it. Henry lets himself drift to the edge of the mass of people, stumbling back to a high-top near the dance floor and keeping his eye out for a server to order another drink. After a moment, a waiter comes by, and another young man who looks about his age cuts in to order as well, giving Henry an apologetic look. 

“Sorry, man! It’s hard to get a drink around here!” His accent is American. It sends a jolt through Henry’s entire body.

“No problem,” Henry says, rubbing his jaw to try to cover his face.

“Having a good night?” It seems he’s not going to get out of this conversation, especially since they’re both waiting for drinks, now.

“Yes. My best mate’s birthday. He’s in there somewhere.” Henry gestures vaguely to the crowd.

“I’m here with my boyfriend. We’re celebrating our six month anniversary. I wanted to stay home and cook, he wanted to go out. Guess who won?” The man gives a rueful laugh. Henry finds himself smiling at the unexpected admission.

“You’re a good man. Where is he?”

“Bathroom. I’ll introduce him when he gets back. Guess I should introduce myself, too. I’m Liam.” Liam holds out his hand, and Henry shakes it. 

“I’m—Harry.”

“Nice to meet you, Harry.” Liam grins at him, and Henry accidentally holds his gaze, smiling back. Liam’s tall and a little scruffy, with light brown hair and broad shoulders. He has a nice smile, Henry thinks, watching the technicolor lights dance across his face. At that moment, the server reappears.

“I’ve got your drinks. Happy anniversary,” Henry says, feeling spontaneous, happy for the reminder that he’s not the only gay man on earth. He passes the server a fifty pound note, shaking his head for no change. 

“Hey, thanks, man! That’s so nice of you!” Liam’s eyes are wide with delight. Once the massive tray full of beverages moves out of the way, a face appears behind it, one that’s too familiar with sparkling brown eyes and a mess of dark curls. The blood running through Henry’s veins instantly turns to ice.

“Babe, I made a friend! He bought our drinks! His name is Harry. Harry, my boyfriend, Alex.” Liam gestures between them with drunken sincerity, and Henry finds himself meeting Alex’s eyes with nausea rapidly rising in his throat.

“Nice to meet you,” Alex yells, waving a little, but there’s a tension Henry’s never seen before in the clench of his jaw. Henry’s frozen to the spot, momentarily unable to move or speak. His eyes dart back and forth between Alex and Liam, trying to process what he’s seeing. Liam turns toward Alex with an expression of complete befuddlement, which spurs Henry into action.

“Sorry, need to get some air,” he finally says and abruptly turns on his heel to stride toward the door. 

Henry bursts outside, sucking in several raggedy deep breaths and then a long drink of his gin and tonic. He presses up against the stone wall, trying to steady himself, but there are so many people passing in and out of the bar, he’s bound to get recognized. He can’t leave Pez completely, so he makes his way down the street and turns down the first alley he finds, allowing himself a moment to panic in quiet solitude.

Alex has a boyfriend. Has had one for six months, since before he and Henry even knew each other. After weeks and weeks of working to earn Henry’s trust, promising him that he won’t lie, flirting with him and kissing him and sucking his dick and taking part of Henry home inside of him, Alex has a fucking boyfriend who may or may not even know what Alex is doing. Henry is sick, sick, _sick,_ dizzy with it, finding himself in a world where nothing makes sense and everything feels wrong. He can’t reconcile it—Alex getting turned on with him, talking to him so sweetly, telling him everything he wants to hear, calling him _baby_ —and this. 

It’s too much. He pulls out his phone with shaking hands, ready to text Alex to come out and explain, but it’s another knife in his throat when he realizes he doesn’t even have his fucking phone number. Henry sinks to the ground, smashing the heel of his palm against his forehead. He’s a fucking _idiot_.

“Henry.”

Alex’s voice is soft but unmistakable; Henry’s heart leaps when he hears it. He looks up slowly, meeting Alex’s eyes. Faced with him now, Henry’s first instinct is to run, but he’s trapped.

“What the fuck, Alex?” he says weakly, the words escaping him before he can think better of it. He wants to stand, feels pathetic on the ground, but he doesn’t trust his trembling body to support him. “How could you _do_ this?”

Alex comes closer and drops to his knees in front of him, so they’re face-to-face. Alex’s eyes have turned hard, Henry realizes, harder than he’s ever seen them before. His jaw is set and his fists are clenched at his sides. He looks angry.

“Do _what?_ You’re my _client,”_ Alex finally spits out, venomous. “I’m your whore. This is my job, Henry. You know that. You fucking _pay_ me.”

“A boyfriend, though?” Henry hates the way he sounds: as small as he feels. “You’ve been spending time with another bloke this entire time? _Fucking_ another bloke? While you say all those things to me? When you said you wouldn’t lie?”

“I haven’t lied. Not once. But that doesn’t change things. You don’t get to know everything about my personal life. You have _no fucking right_ to my time outside of our appointments. What we have is a transaction, Henry. I give you what you need, and you give me what I need. That’s all.”

“That’s all,” Henry echoes, numbness spreading through his limbs.

“I deserve to have a life, too. I don’t owe you shit.”

“Alex.” Henry’s voice breaks. He reaches out, his shaking fingers finding Alex’s knee. Alex skitters backwards.

“Don’t touch me.” He sounds disgusted, and the rest of Henry breaks, too.

“Babe?” Liam appears at the end of the alleyway, looking confused. Alex jumps up, his eyes on Henry. 

“I’m coming. I’ll be right there.”

Liam shrugs and disappears again. Alex towers over Henry, his features delicate, beautiful, even in the midst of his anger. Henry hates how much he still _wants_ him after all this.

“Please don’t misunderstand what this arrangement is again.” Alex looks like he wants to say something else, but instead he spins around and leaves. Henry finally allows himself to break down, alone in the dark alley, with not even the usual PPOs to see him cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _pleasedontkillme_


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey my loves! Okay, let’s just take a collective deep breath that we made it through chapter 7 :D I was anticipating some strong responses and y’all did not disappoint. Thank you for sharing your thoughts, feelings, and analyses with me and just for being emotionally invested in the fic. It truly means so much to me. Let me reassure you that I’m not looking to leave everyone dying of shock for no reason at the end of every chapter from now on — I am trying to find a good balance between suspense and satisfaction. So don’t worry, it’s not just gonna be Like That now. :D If you’re not interested in further Philosophical Ramblings courtesy of cmere feel free to skip to the chapter.
> 
> There was a WIDE variety of reactions, which sent me into quite a deep reflection on author intent vs. reader interpretation (kind of funny after Alex was ranting about death of the author a few chapters ago, but it’s really the first time I’ve been faced with it to this extent as a writer). My kneejerk response was to want to explain everything I was thinking in terms of all the background info/knowledge/character motivations/backstory etc that I have in my head from this fic, a lot of which did not make it into the story itself. But if it’s not in there, who am I to say anyone’s interpretation of what _is_ there is right or wrong? Everyone is looking at things through a different lens and that fact sparked some really amazing discussion in the comments. Honestly, it was a complete joy to read, and ultimately I decided to just keep my mouth shut. If this fic is making you think, making you feel, making you reevaluate things, making you seek out further education on different topics — then that’s absolutely amazing and who the fuck cares what I intended at the outset? :D So, thank you so much to everyone who read, commented, and reached out on various platforms to talk to or scream at me. I truly love hearing from you and engaging with you. I hope you will continue to chat with me and each other to the extent that you are so inspired. <3
> 
> Without further ado (yes I know that was a lot of ado, I’m sorry!), chapter 8, brought to you by ~feelings~

The following weeks pass in slow motion. 

Pez comes over two nights in a row and crawls into bed with Henry, holding him from behind while he cries quietly and asks questions that don’t have answers and stares off at the wall in silence. Then, when Pez has to leave the country for business, Henry spends the majority of time pretending everything is normal for appearances and meetings and family dinners while internally tearing himself to shreds. 

How could he have been so _stupid?_ He’s always known he was a hopeless romantic in theory, but having to face it in reality is a lot more painful than he ever realized. In retrospect, he should have seen this coming. As it is, though, he’s reliving the moment of seeing Alex’s eyes in that club again and again and positively aching through it every single time. He knew Alex wasn’t meant to see other clients; that was far as it needed to go, in his mind. It had never even occurred to him that escorts could do that kind of work and maintain a relationship at the same time. He wants Alex to be happy—but does it have to come at the cost of his own happiness? Didn’t any of it mean _anything_ to Alex?

Of course it didn’t. It’s just his job.

The scooped out, hollow feeling in Henry’s chest spreads, keeping him numb and foggy and disconnected, like he’s living in someone else’s body or someone else’s life. He knows how much it would hurt to see Alex again, but he can’t stop wanting it anyway.

When he asks Shaan to cancel Alex’s visit for the third Monday in a row, Shaan purses his lips and tilts his head slightly before nodding. Annoyance flashes through Henry.

“What is it?”

“Forgive me, Your Highness. I just noticed that you haven’t desired Mr. Claremont-Diaz’s company for several weeks now. If there’s an issue, he should be removed from the payroll.”

Henry stares at Shaan. “If I wanted him off the payroll, you would know it. Don’t even think about removing him. This is his only income, for Christ’s sake.”

“A very generous income,” Shaan says. His meaning is clear, but Henry doesn’t care.

“He signed a contract and so did the crown. He remains in my employ until I say otherwise. Understood?”

“Perfectly, Your Highness. My apologies for speaking out of turn.”

Henry pinches the bridge of his nose. “No, I’m sorry, Shaan. It’s fine.”

“Sir, if there are any...issues...that you’d like assistance dealing with, don’t hesitate to let me know.”

“I know. Thank you.”

Shaan’s brow furrows, but he doesn’t leave. Henry blinks at him.

_“What?”_

“I wasn’t sure whether or not to tell you this, but Mr. Claremont-Diaz appears to be rather in distress at having your appointments cancelled. He’s asked several times to be allowed in the palace regardless and has said if you’ll only speak to him, he can set things right.”

The hollow in Henry’s chest fills with an anxious buzzing that picks at his insides. His desire to give in to Alex consumes him momentarily, and he takes several breaths, trying to steady himself.

“For the love of God, Shaan, please don’t let him anywhere near the palace unless I give my express permission. Pass that on to all the staff.”

“Of course, Your Highness. Is there anything else?”

“Not at the moment. Thank you.”

— 

“So how have things been?” Nora already looks comfortable at Kensington, stretched out over the chaise lounge in one of the sitting rooms. They’ve made their way through small talk and now she’s looking at him with narrowed eyes. “You look about the same as the last time I saw you. Which is not great. I mean, you always look _good,_ but. You know.”

Henry sighs deeply and rubs his forehead. “I’m still dealing with the same issue as a couple weeks ago. I just haven’t figured out what to do yet.”

“Do you want to talk about it? You didn’t really say what it was about before.”

“I...don’t know if that’s a good idea,” Henry says, squirming a little as heat prickles up his neck. The only people who know about his situation with Alex are Pez and Bea, the two people he trusts completely, and even Bea has been spared most of the gory details thus far, what with her travels. He still barely knows Nora, even though they’ve been thrust into this bizarre situation together.

“Ninety-four percent probability that talking to me about it will make you feel better,” Nora says casually. Henry smiles, charmed by her analytical brain. He’s never met anyone quite like her.

“And the other six percent?”

“That’s the probability that I’ll have no idea what to say and only make things worse somehow.” Nora shrugs. “I’m not perfect.”

“Those are pretty good odds.”

Nora merely raises her eyebrows in response.

“I...all right,” Henry says, forcing himself to make a decision. “Just...this is...extraordinarily confidential. I cannot emphasize enough how confidential this is.”

“I know we’re new friends, but we’ve both already got enough dirt on each other to fuck the other one over for life,” Nora points out. “But point taken.”

Henry pauses briefly, chewing on his lip, then begins to talk. It’s the same as telling Alex, really, he thinks; just the other half of it, the more embarrassing part. He can barely get out the word _escort._ Nora makes him repeat it three times before her eyes go wide and she says, with feeling, _“Oh.”_

Henry almost stops the entire thing right there, shame churning inside him at having to admit that he had feelings for Alex growing stronger and stronger the entire time. 

Once he starts, though, it all spills out of him, their early meetings and how conflicted he was, the way Alex learned to read him like his favorite book, how he listened to him and comforted him and made him feel seen and heard for the first time in his life. How easy it was to fall for him after he started to let down that wall. How Alex is everything he could ever imagine wanting, and somehow the reality of him is still so much _more._ That night at the club—meeting Liam, seeing Alex, their talk in the alley. 

By the time he’s done, his hands are shaking. Nora watches him carefully for a moment before responding.

“Henry,” she says, and her voice is kind. Kinder than he deserves. “It’s not your fault. None of it.”

Henry gapes at her. “Of course it’s my fault. I knew what I was getting into, and I let myself believe it was something it wasn’t. I’m a bloody _idiot.”_

“You’re not an idiot. You were put in an impossible situation. It’s hard enough to go around constantly pretending you’re someone you’re not. It’s something different entirely to be given what you’ve always wanted and expected to somehow keep him at an arm’s length. You were set up to fail.”

“Still, I shouldn’t—I couldn’t—I didn’t know how to deal with it all, and I shouldn’t have—”

“Henry.” Nora waits until he looks up at her, then locks eyes on him, pinning him down with her gaze. “It’s not. Your. Fault.” 

“But what do I do now?” Henry says, his voice rough. “I can’t—see him again, but I don’t want to let him go, and—”

“You don’t have to see him until you’re ready,” Nora says firmly. “Take all the time you need to get a little distance from the situation. Maybe once you start things up again, it’ll be better knowing exactly where you both stand.”

“So you don’t think I should...cut it off? Permanently?”

Nora considers him. “When you’re in the worst of it—heartbreak or whatever—it always seems like the flip side of it couldn’t have been worth the pain that you’re in now. It’s too strong and too immediate. But isn’t it better to have experienced those feelings that you had for him, even though it didn’t end up how you wanted, than to live your life numb from feeling and experiencing nothing?”

“I don’t know,” Henry says honestly. “Maybe I’m not meant to have any of it. Maybe I’m just meant to be whoever they want me to be and never experience anything real.”

“Stop. Shut up right now.” Nora glares at him; Henry gets the feeling she’s holding back from throttling him. “You are you, and no one can take that away from you. No matter how much you have to bend because of your position, they will _never_ break you. Not unless you let them.”

Henry’s chest constricts. He can’t help but hear Alex’s words from weeks ago echoing in his ear, words he’s thought about over and over again: _I get the sense that no one has ever told you that you’re enough, but you are. Exactly as is. You don’t need to change a thing._

Suddenly, Nora’s coming over to him on the adjacent sofa and putting her arms around him. Henry tenses up immediately, but she doesn’t let go, and he forces himself to relax into it, to receive the comfort she’s offering. It’s hard to believe, but she’s already becoming a close friend. It’s like she understands exactly what he needs.

Sometimes, she reminds him of Alex.

“So,” Nora says as she pulls back, “are there TVs anywhere in this godforsaken palace? Because I promised to get you hooked on Drag Race, and I’ve decided we’re starting now.”

—

“Your Highness?”

Henry is momentarily stupefied by the unfamiliar voice coming through the intercom before he remembers that Shaan has a couple of days off and other staff attendants are rotating through in his place.

“Yes?”

“I’ve been given a, er, message for you? But I think I should give it to you in person?”

Henry finds himself chuckling at the uncertainty in the attendant’s voice. “I can meet you at the apartment’s entrance.”

“Yes, sir! Be right there, sir!”

Henry makes his way to the entrance hall just in time to hear the doorbell ring. He opens the door to a blond attendant he’s seen many times before; Henry can never quite remember his name, but he always gets a slightly gay vibe from him. The attendant is sweating profusely. Henry smiles in what he hopes is a kind, welcoming way.

“What’s the message, then?”

The man takes a deep breath before speaking. “I notified Mr. Claremont-Diaz that he was not needed at the palace this evening.”

Henry’s heart slams against his ribcage. “And?”

“He insisted on coming anyway, but I said he would only be refused, per your instructions. But he said...he said you would want this message, and asked me to give you his mobile number so you could contact him privately.” The attendant shakily holds out a piece of paper.

For a moment, all Henry does is stare at it. He can’t comprehend why Alex is trying so hard to reach him; he’s still getting paid regardless, and if he were Alex, Henry would be the last person he’d want to see at the moment. It’s been nearly a month since Pez’s birthday. The thought of being in the same room with Alex—of even talking to him over the phone—makes Henry’s stomach curdle.

Some mysterious force compels him to reach out and take the paper with Alex’s number on it.

“Thank you,” Henry says distractedly, starting to close the door.

“Your Highness?” the attendant squeaks.

“Yes, what is it?”

“If I may, I think...I think you should call him! He sounded miserable, and—”

“That’s enough,” Henry says, completely appalled at the man’s presumption to speak out of turn. “I did not ask for your personal opinion, and I’m not interested in hearing it. Good night.”

He shuts the door firmly in his face, then turns around and leans back against it, sinking to the ground in the ornate entrance hall. He didn’t need to be so rude to the poor lad. If it had been about anything else, he probably would have smiled indulgently. But this...

Alex’s phone number. Henry can’t believe he’s holding it in his hands. He didn’t explicitly ask for no messages from Alex, but he knows Shaan never would have passed this on. Shaan can always read between the lines of Henry’s words; Henry takes it for granted. Instead, Shaan is God knows where and Henry’s entire evening has been thrown into chaos once again.

He takes a deep breath. It’s not Shaan’s fault he gets a day off occasionally; he definitely deserves it. Henry should just be grateful he has an equerry who’s so in tune with him and genuinely wants what’s best for him as opposed to some old man named Barnaby who’s really working towards the queen’s interests. He is grateful for Shaan—and Pez, and Bea, and even Nora, though they’ve only just met. But in moments like these, when Henry’s emotions feel like a tangled tumbleweed adrift at sea, all he really wants is to be able to talk to his father.

He never told his dad he was gay, but somehow he knows, down to his bones, that things would be different if he were still here. Arthur never quite fit in with the monarchy; the years he spent as an actor in Los Angeles left a roguish American mark on his attitudes and mannerisms—one he can see, strangely enough, in Alex. He thinks about the absurd idea of the two of them together, swapping celebrity gossip and smart remarks, and the corners of his mouth turn up. 

Even if he were in the same situation now, he thinks his father would have known how to guide him. He at least would have had the words to help him narrow everything down to what’s important. There are too many people telling him what he needs and what the world needs from him. How can he figure out what’s real?

The hollow feeling that’s constantly present inside him goes deep tonight.

Henry sits there for an indeterminate amount of time, staring at the scrap of paper between his fingers. When he finally drags himself back to his bedroom, memories of Alex inside it—the one place they were allowed to be together—bubble up and threaten to spill over. Alex slipping in the door with a smirk; Alex on his knees in front of the leather wingback chair; Alex clinging to him with his limbs and his fingers and his mouth and calling him _baby._

It’s too much. He throws the paper on his nightstand and drops face first into his pillows. David jumps up beside him and burrows into his side. The physical comfort of this living being that needs him and loves him is the only thing that keeps Henry grounded, keeps him from spiraling off into space.

He doesn’t have do anything tonight. That’s enough, right now.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hearing y'alls theories and speculations fills me with unbridled joy. Enjoy <3

_Alex — I’ve spent the past two weeks wondering whether or not I should contact you. I came to realise, as I composed message after message in my head day in and day out, that the question wasn’t whether or not I would say something, but rather what I would say. There’s no precedent for this kind of situation, at least for me. I still can’t figure out why you keep trying to reach me. My only thought is that you’re worried your paycheques will suddenly stop, but somehow, it feels like you’d deny that._

_I know I’ve been an utter imbecile. I knew what this was. I shouldn’t have let myself get swept up in all the things you said to me. But why did you have to say them in the first place? Why did you have to tell me you thought about me outside the four walls of this insufferable bedroom? Why did you have to see me so clearly right from the start? Why did you—_

Henry groans and chucks his phone across the room. Out of all the versions of messages to Alex he’s started writing, this one is definitely the most pathetic. He just can’t figure out what to _say._

In the end, drunk on whiskey and fantasizing about Alex’s mouth a few days later, he goes with: _Alex?_

The reply comes instantly: _H?_

Henry can’t help but smile, even as his heart clenches. Alex is always careful.

 **Henry**  
Yes. It’s me.

 **Alex**  
can we talk?

 **Henry**  
Why?

 **Alex**  
i feel shitty about the way things went down

Henry chews on his lip, stares at his phone. Runs a hand through his hair and then looks around for David to pet, somewhere to focus his nervous, jittery energy.

 **Henry**  
So talk.

 **Alex**  
can i see you?

 **Henry**  
No.

Henry sends the refusal on instinct, furiously reconsiders, then shakes his head, trying to clear the myriad thoughts rushing through him. It’s unreal to imagine Alex on the other side of the phone, sitting in his flat—his sister’s flat, probably, or his boyfriend’s, Henry grudgingly thinks—staring at the screen and thinking about what to say.

Well, it’s Alex. He’s likely not thinking about it at all. He always just says whatever’s on his mind, as though that’s perfectly normal and acceptable.

 **Alex**  
i’m sorry  
i really am  
i was totally in shock seeing you that night  
and drunk, to be honest  
i wish i had handled it differently

 **Henry**  
Doesn’t change anything, does it? You got your point across.  
Don’t worry about your pay. I won’t cut you off.

 **Alex**  
is that really what you think this is about?

Henry blinks. He knew Alex would insist it wasn't about the pay, but somehow, he wanted him to. It would make it so much easier if he thought Alex was just concerned about money; the thought of Alex being concerned about him, or their relationship—whatever it is—cuts Henry up inside.

 **Henry**  
What do you want, Alex? I’ve told you I won’t cut you off.  
What else could you possibly need to talk to me about?

Several long minutes pass before Henry shoves his phone into the pillows, no longer able to bear looking and waiting for Alex to respond. His heart is throbbing so hard it hurts. 

Contacting Alex was a terrible idea. It feels like every emotion he experienced that night at the bar, and every emotion he’s experienced since then, are churning furiously in his stomach, threatening to retch up out of his throat—the most prominent of which is shame. Shame that runs so deep, it’s like it’s become a part of the very fabric of his DNA. Henry’s never felt so pathetic.

The _ding_ of his text message alert sounds multiple times, and Henry viciously berates himself as he chucks pillows off the bed to find his phone again.

 **Alex**  
what we had going was good  
really good  
i know you were happy  
i fucked up  
it was my fault  
don’t punish yourself for my mistake  
i’m sorry

Henry reads the messages again and again, staring at the screen until his eyes blur. He can’t bring himself to respond.

—

 **Alex**  
so i’ve been doing some research on pisces  
apparently y’all internalize all your feelings and they can really overwhelm you  
you’re very sensitive and hold a grudge like no other  
it can take months for you to get over it when someone has hurt you  
(i’m experiencing that right now)  
you don’t really care about appeals to logic...but you are slightly materialistic  
so here goes  
i’m a piece of shit and i took advantage of your emotions when you were in a vulnerable situation. i thought i was giving you what you needed but i can see now that i was just doing what was easy for me. i still think i’m the right person for you, but this time i’ll ask and i swear i’ll listen. please, let me prove it. give me another chance.  
oh, also...i have a present for you  
happy birthday, your highness.

— 

Henry’s birthday passes with little fanfare: a long walk with David and a quiet family dinner. Bea’s still touring and Pez is out of the country as well, with promises that they’ll do something to celebrate when they’re back in the U.K. Philip gets him a pair of plain cufflinks; his mother, a Bowie record he already owns; his grandmother, a stern lecture about his responsibilities to the family now that he’s another year older.

Alex’s messages had come early, much earlier than any reasonable person should be awake. Henry was, though, and apparently, so was Alex. He finds himself thinking of them longingly at dinner, searching to remember the exact verbiage of Alex’s apology, trying not to smile at Alex’s analysis of his Pisces nature, wondering what on earth Alex possibly could have gotten him for a gift. How he knew it was Henry’s birthday in the first place.

Henry and Bea are meant to FaceTime after dinner, but she texts an apology that they’re stuck in an area with awful service and promises to call him tomorrow. Henry’s had just enough wine to turn unbearably maudlin at the disappointment of missing her and goes back to his messages from Alex, reading them again and again. 

Before he can overthink it, he sends back, _All right. Come for dinner tomorrow at seven and we’ll talk._ He experiences a brief moment of intense panic before adding, _Only dinner. Nothing else._

Alex agrees immediately.

Which is how Heny finds himself folded into the booth of the eat-in kitchen, anxiously awaiting Alex’s arrival with sweaty palms and a racing heart. He’s so cliche, he disgusts himself.

Henry expects seeing Alex again will be an electric shock to his system; instead, it’s his favorite cardigan, the one with the patched elbows, wrapped snugly around his shoulders and taking the chill off after a long cold snap. Alex smiles at him, wide and brilliant, and Henry wants nothing more than to pull him into his arms and melt against his mouth. Alex is beautiful, but it’s not just that, now. It’s how familiar it is to have that smile directed at him, how Alex’s eyes light up as soon as he sees him, how Alex walks towards him—confidently, with purpose—like he has so many times before.

Henry forces himself to bring up the memory of Alex’s eyes, hard and unforgiving, and the tone of his voice as he said _transaction._ The word that’s fucking haunted Henry, day and night, for nearly two months now. _It didn’t mean anything. It doesn’t mean anything. It won’t mean anything._ Henry repeats it to himself like a mantra.

He can tell Alex is working hard to respect his boundaries; he doesn’t reach out for a hug, slides carefully into his side of the booth so their knees don’t brush together. Henry aches to touch him, but he doesn’t need to make this any harder on himself than it already will be.

Alex being here tonight doesn’t mean they’re starting anything up again. It’s just dinner.

“Hey,” Alex says softly, inclining his head. Henry can’t help a small smile at the combination of Alex’s casual Texas drawl with polite royal etiquette.

“Hello,” Henry says, louder than Alex for once, trying to cover his nerves. There’s a beat while their eyes lock; Henry waits to see if Alex is going to say anything, but before the silence can stretch out too long, he blurts out, “What’s your sign?”

Alex’s smirk hits Henry just under his skin, causing something buoyant and effervescent to bubble up to the surface. “Aries.”

“That makes you fire, doesn’t it?”

“Yep. And you’re water.” Alex quirks an eyebrow before pulling out a small, rectangular package Henry didn’t see until now. He slides it onto the table between them. “Happy birthday. Sorry it’s belated.”

Henry’s breath catches. “Yours is coming up as well, then.”

“It is.” Alex shrugs a little, then nudges the package forward. “Open it.”

Henry picks it up, turning it over in his hands. He feels silly, suddenly, high on being in Alex’s presence again after so long. “Is it a puppy?”

Alex snorts. “Only one way to find out.”

Henry tugs the thin ribbon aside, tears off the plain paper. The book he uncovers is ancient; it looks like it would fall apart if Henry looked at it wrong. He opens the cover with trembling hands.

 _Persuasion_ by Jane Austen, published in 1818. Which makes it… “First edition?” Henry breathes.

“Yeah,” Alex says, and he looks like a kid in a candy store watching Henry handle the book. “First print, first edition. Do you like it?”

“Alex, this must have cost…”

Alex waves his hand. “I had the opportunity. I had to take it. Even though you’re completely wrong, and Emma is actually the best.” He smirks.

Henry has access to a lot of books in the royal libraries—seemingly endless first editions and special manuscripts of what are considered to be the greatest British authors. He could get anything for his personal collection that he wanted. But somehow, Alex found something he didn’t already have, and something that’s so intensely meaningful and personal to him, it makes his heart feel like it’s going to beat out of his chest. He gapes at Alex, at a total loss of what to say.

“Alex…”

“I want to be clear,” Alex says, “this is just a birthday gift. I know I owe you an apology, too.”

“You don’t owe me anything. And you didn’t need to do this.”

“I wanted to do it, and I do owe you an apology,” Alex repeats pointedly. “I’m sorry I handled everything the way I did, and I don’t mean just that night. I mean everything that led up to it. Like I said, I know I’m the right person for you to have in your life in this capacity. And I promise I’ll do better. I’ll do whatever you need.”

Henry takes several shaky breaths, overwhelmed by everything from the gift to Alex’s physical presence to Alex’s words. He closes his eyes, trying desperately to find some semblance of control.

“Thank you,” Henry says, “for the gift, and for the apology.” He pauses, not sure how to continue. Alex watches him, uncharacteristically silent. “And...if we’re going to start seeing each other again...things do need to change.”

Alex nods enthusiastically, but refrains from speaking. Henry works to arrange his thoughts, narrowing in on the glass of wine in front of him and taking a long drink before continuing.

“You’re not my boyfriend, and you never will be. I don’t want you to pretend that you are. I don’t want or need sweet comments or endearments from you, or treatises about what you’re feeling or what you think about me.”

“I understand.”

“Do you? Because it seems like you have a hard time controlling your mouth.”

Alex’s eyes widen and he breathes, “So tell me to control it, then.”

A jolt travels through Henry’s entire body. “Is that all it takes?”

“I told you before. I can be good.”

“I barely believed you then, and I have a much harder time believing you now.”

Alex’s lip curls into a half-grin. He leans forward, eyes magnetic. “Try me.”

Henry shakes his head with a laugh. Alex is going to fucking kill him.

“Can we agree on some...ground rules, then?” he says, reaching for another drink of wine to stop himself from grabbing Alex and throwing him down on top of the table.

“Definitely,” Alex says, nodding. “What do you have in mind?”

“I want...distance,” Henry says, forcing the words out. “Emotional distance. When we see each other. I think it’s best if we both think of you as what you are, which is staff, and of your work as what it is, which is addressing physical needs only. So I’d like you to be trained by a royal attendant on appropriate etiquette and behavior, and for you to follow through with it when I see you.”

“I can do that.”

Henry looks at him, not entirely believing it will be that easy for him. Alex smiles innocently. “Part of that entails awaiting orders and following them immediately, not speaking unless given permission. That kind of thing.”

Alex nods.

“You think you can abide by that?”

“Of course. No problem.” Alex’s smile widens. Henry bites the inside of his cheek.

“Obviously, in a...sexual relationship, there’s the issue of consent if something like this comes into play.”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” Alex says quickly. Henry gives him a skeptical look.

“I’d feel much more comfortable if we had a way to communicate consent or lack thereof when we’re engaged in certain activities. I’m not interested in forcing you to do anything you’re not comfortable with. Ever. Honestly, I should have said this at the beginning. You will never owe me sex just because it’s our appointment time. Please be candid about that.” Alex is looking at him with an expression that’s as familiar as it is unreadable. Henry’s seen it many times now, and he can never figure out what it means. He finally says, _“What?”_

“You’re really different,” Alex replies, quiet. Thoughtful. 

Henry’s heart flutters. “Different how?”

Alex shrugs. “Kind.”

Henry tries not to let his mind conjure up images of the kinds of men Alex has been with before. It fills him simultaneously with nausea and rage. He notices his fist clenching where it’s resting on the table and consciously relaxes it. 

“I hardly think I’m doing anything beyond the basic minimum of human decency.”

“That makes you pretty exceptional.” Alex meets his eyes; Henry feels heat prickle at the tips of his ears. He needs to bring them back to the issue at hand.

“How would you like to communicate consent, Alex?”

“Do _yes_ and _no_ work?” 

“Will you really say no when you need to?”

“Look, I’m really not worried about it becoming an issue with you, but will it make you feel better if I promise?”

Henry purses his lips. “Can I trust your word?”

Alex looks at him, his expression utterly sincere. “I hope you know by now that you can. I know I didn’t tell you everything before. I didn’t think you’d want to know. But I’ve never been dishonest with you. It’s important to me that you believe that.”

“I want to,” Henry says slowly.

“Let me prove it to you.” 

Henry takes a pause, even though he knows the decision is already made. He finally says, “Are you going to be comfortable with following my orders and treating me like a prince?” 

“Yes, Your Highness,” Alex whispers, his eye contact unwavering and intense. Henry’s heartbeat is suddenly pounding in his ears. He feels so connected to Alex through their shared gaze, feels some invisible line between them pulling him in. God, what is this power Alex has over him?

“Is there anything else you think we need to discuss?” Henry forces himself to say. Alex’s eyes flicker down to his lips, then back up. Henry’s entire face is warm now.

Alex cocks an eyebrow at him. “When can I start?”

— 

Henry is boarding a plane to Germany for an event when he gets the first messages.

 **Alex**  
i just sat through like a four hour powerpoint presentation about your family  
i feel like i understand so much more about you now

Henry pauses on the jetway stairs, shaking his head. Only Alex would completely disregard any thought about whether or not it’s appropriate to continue texting him directly. He thinks about how—or whether—to respond as he finishes boarding and gets settled. They’re just about to take off when he’s overcome by a flash of impulsiveness.

 **Henry**  
Is that a good thing or a bad thing?

Alex replies immediately.

 **Alex**  
oh it’s good ;)  
also, this royal attendant training me is totally gay

  
Henry blinks several times at his phone, then powers it off before he says something he’ll deeply regret.

Henry’s initial response seems to embolden Alex, though, to start messaging him at all hours of the day and night. The messages are random, benign, links to things he thinks Henry might enjoy, reflections on his royal training, or comments about the book he’s reading, the weather, or Henry’s most recent appearance in the news.

 **Alex**  
i like living here and all but jesus fuck i miss sunshine  
lmk if you have some secret method of acquiring vitamin d  
  
hey i’m learning about all the dinner forks  
this is kinda dope actually  
  
have you heard of this international gay polo tournament?  
https://gaypolo.com/polo-tournament/  
maybe you could go as like an esteemed guest or something  
to show your support as an ally to the lgbtq community ;)

Henry soon finds himself checking his phone with alarming frequency, looking to see if Alex has sent an update about whether his tex-mex corn chowder recipe turned out well (yes, despite having to debase himself by using canned corn) or if he won his lacrosse game that night (no, because the other team was totally offsides half the time and never got called on it). It’s a glimpse into Alex’s everyday life that Henry never had before, even when they were seeing each other weekly and having dinner together. He gets the mundane details that make him feel like he’s actually getting to know Alex for the first time, his random, bizarre thoughts and rants about how disgusting British bacon is or how much he misses Costco and all the free samples (Henry tries to google what, exactly, Costco is, but he still doesn’t really get it).

Sometimes he responds; sometimes he doesn’t. When he does, Alex seems to get a kick out of it, quick to send back a jab or joke. It’s a bizarre kind of disconnect, like they’re two different people: the Alex he’s exchanging messages with and the Alex he’s had in his bedroom. Alex, a platonic friend, and Alex, the escort whose body is tuned to Henry’s every desire. Henry steadily becomes more and more of a tangled, anxious mess as the days go by, the anticipation of Alex’s return making him distracted and careless.

“Are you quite all right?” Philip says sharply when Henry spills his tea in an early morning meeting.

“Fine, fine, my apologies,” Henry says, gripping his phone under the table.

 **Alex**  
fyi i’m accepting birthday wishes today, no gifts please  
have you read edward ii?  
“The mightiest kings have had their minions; Great Alexander loved Hephaestion, The conquering Hercules for Hylas wept; And for Patroclus, stern Achilles drooped. And not kings only, but the wisest men: The Roman Tully loved Octavius, Grave Socrates, wild Alcibiades.”  
you’re not alone. :)


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey hey loves!! A couple things today - first, would you mind doing me a huge favor and tell me if the text message formatting looks crappy on your device? I struggled to figure out how to format them and it's important for me to have it done well for Reasons so I would really appreciate it! <3
> 
> Second, a thrilling announcement (lol). I'm going to break with my schedule and post another update to this fic tomorrow! This is because I need to start posting my RWRB Big Bang fic on Friday (yay!), and I want to update them on opposite days. 
> 
> Content warning for this chapter: the Dom/sub aspect of this fic picks up heavily (if you couldn't have guessed that was coming). NSFW!
> 
> Love to all of you and please enjoy! <33333333333

Hearing the familiar knock at his bedroom door after so long without it is both comforting and unsettling. Even with how difficult everything was at first, Henry had grown used to Alex and the routine; the rules were unspoken, but it at least felt like they were playing the same game. Now, they’re starting over with a new game and a new set of rules. Henry doesn’t know if he’s going to be able to play like this.

“Come in,” he calls. There’s a brief pause before the door opens just enough for Alex to slip inside. He waits there, quiet, with his head slightly bowed, brown curls falling over his forehead. He’s still the most beautiful man Henry’s ever seen, and it takes everything within him not to call Alex over, to pull him into a deep kiss, to work shivers out of his soft skin with purposeful hands. His wanting is a deep chasm within him, dark and bottomless and dangerous. He fleetingly wonders if Alex has longed for him the same way, even for a second, before clearing his mind of such asinine thoughts.

“Come closer,” Henry says, his voice unexpectedly hoarse. Alex approaches slowly without looking at him until he’s directly in front of Henry, who’s seated in the chair by the window. He inclines his head further in polite acknowledgement. Then, without speaking, he kneels at Henry’s feet.

Henry’s struck as though he’s had the wind knocked out of him. In all the ways he imagined this going, he never pictured Alex as the perfect image of subservience. He always had a defiant jut of his chin or an insolent raise of his eyebrow, something to indicate that Alex was full of the same life and spirit that Henry had fallen for before, even if he followed Henry’s instructions and abided by his new royal training. 

Alex is different tonight than Henry’s ever seen him before, completely pliant and willing. Henry’s not sure if he likes it, but it does make it easier for him to disconnect from the Alex he’s made love to, the Alex he’s kissed with every emotion between his lips, the Alex he’s been texting nearly every day.

Henry’s whirlwind of thoughts leaves him completely as he takes in the full picture of Alex and his eyes narrow in on one point: there’s a bulge in Alex’s trousers that can only indicate one thing.

“Are you turned on?” Henry asks, incredulous, before he can stop himself. Noticing Alex’s hesitation, he adds, “You may speak.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” Alex says quietly.

“Did you...take something?” Henry can’t help asking. “Tell me honestly.”

“No, Your Highness.”

Henry’s mind spins into overdrive trying to process what’s happening. “What is it, then?”

He notices Alex shift minutely before murmuring, “I’m excited for you to tell me what to do. Sir.”

_Christ._ Henry’s own jittery nerves turn to rapidly growing interest. Even when he thinks he’s set up every boundary to stay in control of the situation, Alex still finds a way to surprise him, to knock him off-kilter. It’s utterly intoxicating.

Henry swallows hard. “Take off your clothes, then return to the same position.”

Alex complies immediately, smoothly unbuttoning his shirt and slipping it off his shoulders, standing to step out of his trousers and underwear and kicking them aside before he kneels again, this time a little closer, just between Henry’s legs. All of Henry’s plans go out the window at seeing Alex already hard for him, and he closes his eyes briefly to gather strength. Inviting Alex back may have been the worst idea he’s ever had.

“I want to see you touch yourself,” Henry manages to say, by some miracle.

Alex’s eyes flick up momentarily to look at him before he looks back down, nodding, and he wraps his fingers around his cock, squeezing slightly before beginning to move. Alex starts slowly, and Henry drinks in every small indication of his pleasure, from the sight of his lips parting to allow shallow breath between them to the muscles of his thighs shifting as they repeatedly tense. He doesn’t look self-conscious or embarrassed at all, somehow perfectly at ease naked and masturbating on the floor of Henry’s bedroom. 

Henry bites his lip, overwhelmed by it all. He’s already aching to touch Alex, to feel Alex touching him.

Henry notices Alex’s free hand squeeze into a fist at his side just as a quiet moan escapes him. The minutes pass slowly, yet in no time at all. Alex’s arm is moving faster, his brow knitting together, his eyes fluttering closed. Henry’s missed this sight.

“Don’t come,” Henry adds as he starts to notice Alex’s tells, the twitch of his jaw, the way his breaths turn stuttered and gasping. Alex nods, barely, hand flying over his cock, precome leaking at the tip. Then he groans, long and loud, as he grips the base of the shaft hard and tangles his fingers in the fabric of the rug, chin dropping to his chest. 

Henry’s breathless, so hard it almost hurts. He watches Alex take several deep breaths before lifting his head again, though he still keeps his gaze respectfully lowered. His eyelashes alone make Henry want to scream.

“Alex,” he says. “How are you doing?”

“Good,” Alex replies, his voice rough.

“Good,” Henry says and clears his throat. “Then I’d like you to suck me off.” He has to stop himself from adding _please._

“Yes, sir,” Alex says, sitting up on his knees and reaching for Henry’s belt. Having Alex’s hands on him again sends a tremor through Henry’s entire body. The immediacy of his need makes him feel like he’s been waiting for this for years, not just the couple of months that have passed since that fateful night. 

When Alex’s fingers brush the skin of Henry’s stomach as he pulls at the elastic of his boxer briefs, arousal snakes through his groin. He suppresses a moan. He lifts his hips slightly, reminded of the first time Alex ever visited him like this, when he was seated in this same chair with Alex’s hands hot and purposeful on him. He didn’t know what to do then, and he certainly doesn’t know what to do now.

Alex’s eyes flit up again. This time, Henry’s momentarily locked into his gaze. It’s always so expressive and this is no different; darkened with desire and a flicker of something unknowable. Henry’s drawn in, wants to follow what he sees down to the floor, wants to push Alex beneath him and try to find answers in the slide of Alex’s lips and the cut of his teeth. Instead, he trembles in the agony of wanting with no end, of chasing with no reward. At least, not the kind that would fill the real need inside him.

Alex maintains eye contact as he licks a stripe up the underside of Henry’s cock, pausing at the tip to tongue heavily over the slit. Henry watches, breathless, as he laps up the dribble of fluid there, swirls over the head, then closes his lips, full and shiny wet, to form the perfect suction. Henry groans, unable to prevent it, and squeezes his eyes closed. 

Alex starts to suck him in earnest, then, lining up his hand around the shaft with his mouth and working to leave no part of Henry’s aching erection untouched. Henry’s fingers dig into the arms of the chair as pleasurable sensations wash over him in waves. 

He had already forgotten how well Alex knows his body, but the evidence is on full display as Alex exerts just the right amount of pressure and teases at just the right places with his tongue to send Henry into a steady thrum, his muscles contracting, trying to control himself. It’s so good, so fucking good, that Henry feels himself approaching some kind of edge way too soon. He says in an exhaled rush, “Wait.”

Alex pulls back immediately. Henry opens his eyes again, just barely. Alex is still on his knees, one hand wrapped around Henry’s cock and unmoving and the other pressed into Henry’s inner thigh. His chest expands with each heavy breath he takes, and Henry nearly unravels at the sight of him. He takes a moment to gather himself.

“Touch yourself and start up again,” Henry says, “but don’t come until I say you can.”

Alex’s lips twist into a small smirk, a familiar sign of the Alex he’s known, and he nods, spitting in his hand before bringing it down to his own erection. “Yes, sir.”

Alex goes back down, but it’s sloppier now, less precise while he works to find a rhythm jerking himself off simultaneously. It takes a minute before he gets there, and then Henry is lost in it, Alex’s dark curls bobbing between his thighs while he moans around Henry’s cock, bringing himself pleasure at the same time, the slick thwapping noises of Alex’s hands and mouth filling the air. Henry can tell Alex is trying hard to keep his concentration, even as he loses coordination momentarily and pauses with Henry’s dick in his mouth, unmoving except for his hand furiously working himself. 

It’s too much, all of it, having Alex back here, being with him and feeling him this way once more. When he starts sucking again, Henry lets himself go, allows the pleasure of it to overtake him completely. Alex goes deep, swallowing around his cock, and Henry brushes the hair back from his forehead before threading one hand through it. Alex pulls back to suckle at the tip, and Henry notices him squeezing hard around the base of his cock again, presumably to prevent an orgasm. Henry comes hard in his mouth, cradling Alex’s head while his hips jerk helplessly, pleasure flooding his body.

Alex sits back slowly, breathing hard, still gripping himself. Henry tries to catch his breath, tries to remember what he wanted to happen next, but his brain may have short-circuited because all he wants to do is pull Alex into his lap and kiss him.

“Come here,” he murmurs, the decision made for him by the time the thought has even entered his mind. Alex stands shakily, and Henry takes him by the hips, guiding him to sit atop Henry’s thighs. Then, Henry allows himself one brief kiss, pressing his lips to Alex’s and seeking out his own bitterness. Alex seems hungry for it, thrusting into Henry’s mouth, hands coming to clutch at his neck. Henry peels Alex’s fingers off of him as he forces himself to draw back. “I didn’t give you permission to touch me.”

“I’m sorry,” Alex whispers, biting his lip. 

“Are you...doing all right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Touch yourself instead, if you want to keep your hands busy,” Henry murmurs, trailing his fingers up Alex’s back and pressing them into the base of his skull. Alex lets out a frustrated groan, but he complies. It’s different to experience it from this close up, the sensation of Alex’s body tensing in his lap, Alex’s breath hot on his cheek, his little whimpers and moans louder and needier and more urgent. Henry encourages him with one hand rubbing gently up and down his thigh, the other brushing over his shoulders. It doesn’t take long this time before Alex sounds completely ragged. Henry says, “Do you want to come?”

“Yes, sir,” Alex groans.

His hand speeds up momentarily until Henry says, “Don’t.”

_“Fuck,”_ Alex cries out, and the pure desperation of it sends an unadulterated thrill through Henry’s entire body. Having this kind of power over Alex is too fucking alluring, especially with the kind of power Alex has over him. Alex quickly wraps his thumb and forefinger around his sac and _pulls._ Henry fingers his way down Alex’s spine, watching Alex’s face with interest, his expression going from pleasure to agony in the curve of his lips and the crease of his forehead.

“Please,” Alex says between heavy breaths. _“Please.”_

“Keep going,” Henry says, then grazes Alex’s throat with his teeth. 

Alex’s entire body is trembling as he starts up again, and this time Henry wraps long fingers around Alex’s hand on his cock, moving with him. Alex presses his face into Henry’s neck and moans and moans, his free hand coming up to grip Henry’s shoulder. Henry doesn’t reprimand him this time, just holds him, urges him along with his lips on the shell of Alex’s ear and his fingers linking with Alex’s, bringing him off. 

Just when he feels in the tautness of Alex’s body, hears in the rawness of Alex’s moans that he can’t take it anymore, Henry waits a beat longer and finally says, “Come for me, Alex.” 

Alex’s next cry is full of disbelief, and then his entire body convulses on top of Henry until they’ve wrung every last drop of pleasure from him together. Alex’s breaths come in enormous heaves, and he keeps his forehead tucked against Henry’s cheek as he slowly reclaims control over himself.

Henry is unexpectedly flooded with emotions. There’s something so beautiful, so intimate and tender, about Alex surrendering himself like this. Henry thought it would help maintain distance between them, but for some reason, he feels closer to Alex instead. Alex ducks his head and leaves several small kisses along Henry’s throat, over his pulse point, up his jaw. Some part of Henry wants to remind him to ask for permission, but a bigger part wants whatever he can get from him.

It only took, Henry realizes, one fucking night for him to fall back under Alex’s spell. He already knows the disgust and self-loathing will come later, when he’s alone. For now, he places his fingers under Alex’s chin and tilts it up, meeting his mouth in a kiss. They kiss for a longer time than Henry is willing to admit to himself.

“Was that all right for you?” Henry says against Alex’s lips. In response, Alex pulls back and looks at him with wide eyes.

“It was complete torture,” Alex says, “in the most incredible way ever.” Henry laughs, biting his lip, embarrassed for some reason. Alex visibly hesitates, then adds, “I missed this. You.”

“Don’t tell me that,” Henry says, his body stiffening and his hands dropping from Alex’s face. He was wrong; the disgust and self-loathing are hitting _now._ “I don’t want to fucking hear that from you. Christ, Alex.”

“Fuck. I’m sorry. I know.” Alex grips the back of Henry’s neck. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“Just—don’t touch me. Get off. Just go, please.” Henry’s skin is crawling, suddenly, the weight of what he’s doing slamming into him with force.

“Henry—” Alex starts, but Henry cuts him off before he can say anything else.

“No. You don’t get to come in here and speak to me so informally and tell me you _missed_ me. I am a bloody _prince,_ and I only agreed to this on the condition that you would follow my orders and treat me with the respect I deserve. Now get the _fuck_ out of my house.”

Alex scrambles off of him, hastily throwing his clothes back on and hurrying toward the door. Henry doesn’t even watch him go. Why did he think there was any way he could make this work? Alex will never be cold and distant; that’s part of what attracts Henry to him so much, the way his heart pumps not only blood but _life_ through his entire body. The way it glints in his eyes and shines in his smirk, the one that can practically bring Henry to his knees all on its own. 

Can Henry live with himself knowing it means nothing to Alex?

— 

Alex texts him a couple days later like nothing has happened: _i just tried marmite for the first time. please send medical attention to june’s apartment ASAP._

Henry snorts and taps out a reply. _Bea would say Marmite is a national treasure. I’m not surprised your uncultured American taste buds can’t understand._

The memory of the previous Monday weighs on him constantly, but somehow, he can disconnect that version of Alex with the one he’s messaging now, and they trade disparaging remarks about each other’s countries for several minutes, leaving Henry in a weirdly good mood.

When Monday rolls around again, he and Alex have been texting sporadically throughout the day, every day. Henry spends several hours debating whether he should tell Alex not to come, but his paralyzing indecision results in a lack of action that means Alex is at his door at nine, having the decency to look slightly abashed.

Henry’s leaning against the bed, waiting for him. “Come in.”

They don’t talk about the text messages. They don’t talk about the prior week. They don’t talk at all. Henry fucks Alex standing up, bending him over the bed, and Alex ruts back against him, fingers tangled in the ornate, gold-threaded quilt until he nearly pulls it off entirely.

It’s good. God, it’s good. Alex is unnaturally quiet until Henry gives him permission to make noise, and then it’s a colorful array of curses and groans, “Yes, like that, fuck me, Your Highness,” every word of which Henry feels throbbing in his groin. 

He notices Alex rubbing his untouched cock up against the mattress and gives him a quick swat on the back of his hip with a quiet reprimand. Alex’s apology quickly turns to begging; it only gets Henry off faster. After he comes, he curves himself over Alex’s back, leaving his spent cock inside him while he wraps long fingers around Alex’s prick. Alex doesn’t come until Henry says he can.

It doesn’t have to be difficult, Henry tells himself as Alex brings Henry’s hand to his mouth and sucks the mess off his fingers. It can be like this.

Just physical. Nothing else.

Alex dresses himself slowly while Henry watches, leaning against the bed again, naked this time. He feels loose-limbed and relaxed, all the nervous energy of the day and the uncertainty of whether or not he can go through with this dissipated in the sweet, post-orgasm haze, the fresh memory of Alex moaning and pleading for him. 

Once Alex is fully clothed, he hesitates.

“What is it?” Henry says. Alex looks up, sheepish. It’s not an expression Henry’s seen on him before, and it’s extremely cute.

“Permission to make a request?”

A thrill of nerves runs through Henry. “You can make it. I may or may not fulfill it.”

“Can I kiss you?” The words tumble out in a rush. Alex pushes still-sweaty hair back off his forehead and juts out his chin. Henry looks at him, taken aback but trying not to show it. There’s a beat of silence, then another. 

“One kiss,” Henry agrees, “because you’ve been so good.”

Alex smirks.

Henry’s not sure if there’s a time limit on a kiss before it counts as more than one. He decides, tasting Alex off his own tongue, not to overanalyze it.

—

**Alex**  
okay, hear me out  
pride and prejudice and zombies was actually a really good book and i think you’d really like it 

****

**Henry**  
And why do you presume to know what I’d like? 

****

**Alex**  
oh, you think you’re hard to figure out or something? that’s cute  
seriously, i know you’re like an austen purist or whatever but you should just try it

**Henry**  
It’s going to take a lot more than a recommendation from someone who unironically enjoyed Twilight to get me to read a book that defaces Austen’s legacy with zombies.

**Alex**  
you’re so fucking dramatic jesus christ  
go swoon on a fainting couch or something


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello hello! So y'all and a kindly tumblr anon got my wheels turning yesterday. I know some people are thirsty for Alex's POV which is fun for me. I am not going to rewrite the fic from his perspective but I am open to getting prompts for some specific scenes you might like to see from his POV. No promises because I'm totally going to go with what/whether inspiration strikes (and/or end up incorporating stuff into my potential Alex POV sequel :D). But I haven't been writing much as I've been ~~compulsively~~ editing this and my other fic, so it would be fun to have a reason to hopefully get some words down.
> 
> If you wouldn't mind, please [send me an ask](https://omgcmere.tumblr.com/ask) on tumblr (anon is fine if you prefer) with a specific scene so I can keep them in one place and I'll see what happens. Send as many as you want but please don't hate on me if I don't end up writing them! :D
> 
> This update is a bit of a shortie, but it's early, so these are the tradeoffs! Don't forget that [RWRB Big Bang](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/rwrbbigbang) posting starts tomorrow - be on the lookout for lots of creations (including by yours truly)!
> 
>  **Content warnings for this chapter:** rough oral sex; brief cancer scare

The conference room at Buckingham is stiflingly hot. Henry tugs on his collar while sweat drips down the back of his neck. Nora, seated at his right hand side, looks equally uncomfortable; her face is bright red.

“Thank you, everyone, for joining us today,” Queen Mary says, slanting a severe look at Henry. He looks down. “I thought it necessary to bring our families together to discuss the progress of Henry and Nora’s arrangement and agree upon a timeline in order to move forward with efficiency and grace.”

In reality, Shaan had presented Henry with another ridiculously fast proposal and Henry had kicked up such a fuss that the Queen decided to call everyone together, knowing he wouldn’t make a scene in front of Nora’s family.

“It is my understanding that the two of you have had several opportunities to get to know each other and have formed a friendship. Am I mistaken?”

“No,” Henry mutters. He feels like a teenager being scolded.

“Then I see no issue moving to the next phase of your relationship, which is a public courtship.”

The Duke of Wellington clears his throat. “Your Majesty, if I may…” The Queen inclines her head for him to continue. “Do the two of you have any reservations about this aside from it obviously not being your ideal situation? If so, now would be the time to voice them.”

Henry and Nora turn to look at each other simultaneously. It’s amazing how quickly they’ve learned to communicate with just their eyes. A skill for children of nobility, Henry thinks half-hysterically.

“No,” Nora says finally. “I think His Royal Highness is lovely.”

“Nor I,” Henry adds.

“Then,” the Duke says firmly, “I’m afraid we must set a timeline.” He nods back to the Queen. She smiles, her lips pressed together and thinning until they almost disappear.

“I would like to formally announce that Henry is courting Lady Nora within the next month. Then, three months after that, Henry will propose marriage, with the wedding to take place early next summer.”

Henry’s stomach turns over. It’s too soon; it’s all happening too fast. He thought he’d have more time to figure it out, or get used to the idea, or _something._ As wonderful as Nora is, the reality of being faced with a public sham engagement and marriage in a few short months is too much. Once Nora is formally announced, they’ll hardly be able to go out in public without constant harassment, even more so than usual. Everyone will scrutinize every detail of their interactions, speculating about whether or not he really loves her. 

How will he ever be able to pull this off?

“I held up my end of the bargain, did I not?” the Queen adds, directing her words at Henry. “I believe I’ve been more than generous. It’s your turn, now. We’ll arrange for official courtship photos to be taken and a press release drafted in the coming weeks. I look forward to seeing the announcement in the papers with a charming quote about your budding relationship. That is all.”

Queen Mary stands, effectively ending the meeting, and everyone else in the room jumps up as well. Henry wants to say something, to protest, to argue, but the words die in his throat, long before they’re given oxygen. He’s powerless, no one to stand up for him but himself. He sees the feeling mirrored in Nora’s eyes.

Henry juts his chin out as his grandmother walks by him, a small act of defiance. She glares coldly at him, an ominous chill in the otherwise stuffy room.

— 

Henry’s tense, distracted. Even as Alex tugs his belt open from his knees, looks up at him with a glint in his eye, Henry struggles to meet his gaze, stares off across the room and lets his vision go blurry instead. The timeline weighs heavy on his mind; he can practically hear the tick, tick, tick of the time bomb, just inside his ear. 

Alex breathes hot air on his cock, bringing him back to the present with the teasing sensation. Henry answers the silent question without looking. “Go on.”

Alex’s mouth is wet and warm and so, so soft, and Henry’s hips jerk forward on instinct. He can tell from Alex’s resulting change in posture, slowing to a careful pause instead of speeding up, that Alex knows what he wants. Henry thrusts tentatively, and Alex’s mouth drops open even wider, his head tilting back. Henry doesn’t look, but he can feel it, the way Alex is opening up to take him in.

Henry’s hands find Alex’s hair; it feels like it was made to curl around his fingers. He holds Alex still and starts thrusting harder. Alex keeps his tongue flat and firm so it drags all over the sensitive underside of Henry’s cock, flicking up occasionally to give Henry an extra jolt. 

When he bumps into the back of Alex’s throat, he cries out, _“Fuck,”_ at once endlessly aroused and full of guilt for enjoying this. Alex just moans, though, and Henry tries to remind himself that Alex is a professional, that he told Henry he’d say no if necessary, that over the past few weeks he’s learned Alex seems to _like_ it kind of rough. He fucks into Alex’s mouth again, and Alex swallows hard around the head of his cock. Henry holds himself there, deep, grip tight in Alex’s hair, the sensations curling all the way down his legs and licking up through his torso. 

After a moment, Henry pulls back and then moves forward again, falling into a slower, easier rhythm. He thinks about checking in, at least looking down to get a read on Alex’s expression, his body language, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t think he could bear to look right now and see Alex looking straight back up at him with his big brown eyes. He just wants to fuck the tension out of his shoulders, his lower back. He wants to close his eyes and sink into the sensation of Alex’s mouth, to let Alex do what he does best and turn him into a puddle of liquid warmth. To make him forget what’s distracting him by pulling desperate groans out of him until he collapses in a haze of pleasure. That’s what they agreed on, right?

Henry thrusts and thrusts, his eyes falling closed, breath quickening, turning ragged and gasping in the otherwise quiet room. Alex is making noises too; they vibrate around him. Henry wants to know what they mean. _Don’t look. Don’t look._

His fingers stretch down the back of Alex’s neck and he feels the tendons shifting there as his cock bumps into the back of his throat again. God, Alex is good at this. He probably looks gorgeous with his lips stretched wide and glistening. Henry shouldn’t look. He just needs to finish. He’s already forgotten whatever he was thinking about before; the only thing that exists right now is the way Alex is enveloping him in slick soft heat, the way Alex is making his body light up and _sing._

Henry hears a choked noise and his eyes flick down before he can stop himself. The sight that greets him stops his heart: Alex with damp cheeks, tears trickling out of his eyes. Horrified, Henry withdraws immediately, dropping to his knees and clutching Alex’s face.

“Alex, _fuck,_ what is it? Did I hurt you?”

Alex pushes his hands aside, clearly frustrated. “I’m fine,” he says, his voice hoarse. “Let me—you didn’t finish—”

“That doesn’t matter, I shouldn’t have—”

“I’m fine, it’s just something that happens, come on, I can take it—” Alex tries to go down again, but Henry holds him firmly in a sitting position.

“Stop, Alex, please.” Henry grips Alex’s biceps until he’s sure Alex isn’t going to move again, then lets his hands slide up over his shoulders, coming up to cup his jaw, brushing the wetness on Alex’s cheeks away with his thumbs. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Alex’s eyes flash up at him, still damp, but he doesn’t say anything, just continues to take big, deep breaths. Henry watches him, something delicate hanging in the balance. After a long silence, Alex moves his hands to Henry’s thighs, resting there heavy and warm. Henry’s still looking at him, breathless, a hot coil twisting through his chest. 

Suddenly, Alex is close, so close, almost in his lap. One hand comes up and tucks Henry’s hair behind his ear, lingering there, and Henry doesn’t have the strength to tell him he needs permission.

“Let me,” Alex says, barely a breath. His other hand finds Henry’s cock.

“Alex,” Henry says weakly.

“Tell me to stop.” Alex’s hand grips him tight, and he starts to jerk him quick and steady. Pleasure immediately floods back into Henry’s groin, quick to heighten again after how close he was already. Then Alex’s lips are on his, and any chance Henry has at retaking control over this goes out the window. 

There’s something about kissing Alex that makes him _feel_ everything so much more intensely—his pulse throbbing in his wrists, his thighs trembling, his stomach clenching—like his body is connected to Alex’s through his mouth, the soft brush of his tongue. Each kiss consumes him utterly.

Alex is holding him close as his pleasure peaks, the sweetness of his lips reassuring, his hand rough in the most incredible way. Henry comes quivering in ecstasy and sucking in Alex’s oxygen. It feels like Alex gives him exactly what he needs to come alive, every time.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Henry says, breathing hard against Alex’s lips, trying to steady the ground beneath him. 

Alex’s eyes on him are keen. “I didn’t do anything I didn’t want to.” 

Henry believes him.

—

 **Alex**  
the daily mail has this baby photo of you in it today and your head is so large i can’t believe it didn’t just roll off your body one day?  
is this photoshopped?  
no wonder your neck is so strong if it had to hold that thing up

 **Henry**  
I just needed some time to grow into it. What are you implying about my neck?

 **Alex**  
it’s thicc

 **Henry**  
I hate you.

 **Alex**  
i know ;)

 **Henry**  
I thought you disdained the tabloids?

 **Alex**  
june always has them lying around. i was looking for something to distract myself

 **Henry**  
From what?

 **Alex**  
ummmmm  
my mom called, she has a lump in her breast  
i guess it could be fine but they did a biopsy to check for cancer  
i just wish we were there, you know?  
i feel so fucking far away

 **Henry**  
I’m so sorry. I know that helpless and terrified feeling all too well.  
Do you and June need assistance with getting home?

 **Alex**  
nah, we’re going to wait to get the results before we decide anything

 **Henry**  
I can have you setting foot in Texas within twelve hours. Don’t hesitate to let me know.  
The waiting is the worst part. I hope the results come soon.

 **Alex**  
thank you. seriously  
  
  
good news! it’s benign  
i felt a lot better knowing i could get home fast if i needed to  
so thanks again  
it helped a lot

 **Henry**  
I’m so relieved to hear it. Thank you for updating me.  
The offer stands should you ever need it.

**Alex**  
♥


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi loves!! Just a couple things today - I've gotten lots of good prompts for Alex POV stuff (I actually opened up a doc to start something last night but failed to write a single word. Progress tho!) but feel free to [drop more here](https://omgcmere.tumblr.com/ask) if you are so inclined.
> 
> Also, I started posting my RWRB Big Bang yesterday! If you are also inclined toward fluff and humor and sexy gay poetry, check it out: [the poem you make of me](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26775202/chapters/65316223)
> 
> **Content warning for today's chapter:** spanking
> 
> Hope you enjoy! :D <3

The sun shines brightly on Henry’s face, warming him from the slight chill of spring in London. It’s a rare cloudless day and the colors of the Buckingham Palace gardens are vibrant: bright red tulips and vivid green grass against a stunning blue sky. Henry tugs at his gray sweater vest. He feels distinctly like a looming storm cloud threatening to ruin everyone’s day.

“This is torture.”

Nora rolls her eyes. “You’re so dramatic. Put your hand on my knee.”

The photographer calls out for them to smile. Henry tries to think of something happy, like Jaffa cakes or the V&A or David. He’s suddenly reminded of Harry Potter attempting to produce a Patronus for the first time and gets swept up in images of his pending engagement as a dementor angling to suck out his soul. It’s disturbingly realistic.

“The sooner you smile, the sooner we can get out of here and get drunk,” Nora grits out through her teeth.

“Noted,” Henry says, takes a deep breath, and smiles.

“There it is! Just like that!” The photographer’s camera starts flashing furiously. Henry does not think deeply about his mind wandering to Alex’s most recent text message, accompanied by a photo of him in GQ: _seriously, what kind of demon did you have to make a deal with to get a jaw that chiseled? you’re inhuman._

“Perfect! I think we’ve got plenty of options,” the photographer finally says several minutes later, waving his hand to indicate the crew can start wrapping up.

“So we’re finished?” Henry pops up out of his chair and pulls out his phone; nothing new from Alex. He deflates slightly. Nora watches him with interest. “What?” he says defensively.

“Oh, nothing,” she replies, her tone indicating that there very much is something, and she’s just not going to tell him. He’s used to it by now. 

Before long, they’re back in the den in Henry’s apartment at Kensington, eating cheese and onion crisps and passing a bottle of wine back and forth. Drag Race glitters on the TV in the background.

“So this is it,” Henry says grimly. “No going back after the announcement is published this weekend.”

Nora chews thoughtfully. “Are you ready?”

“More importantly, are you? I know you’re familiar with this life, but the level of scrutiny you’re about to be under is…” Henry trails off, unable to find the correct word to describe it.

“Yeah. I know. I’ve been training my whole life for this level of chaos.” Nora grins; Henry can’t help but smile back.

“You’re so much braver than me.”

“I’m just looking forward to seeing the public’s collective hivemind explode when they read that I’m not planning to quit my job.”

“House mums everywhere will have a conniption.”

“It’ll be cool to show little girls that they can find love with Prince Charming and keep their careers. Even if it’s got a gross heteronormative veneer slapped over it.”

Henry exhales, long and slow. “As terrible as this all is, I’m glad to be doing it with you. Truly.”

“Right back at you, love.”

—

**Royal Announcement: HRH Prince Henry of Wales officially courting Lady Nora Holleran of Wellington**  
  
The royal family released a statement on Sunday presenting Lady Nora Holleran of Wellington, granddaughter of the Duke of Wellington, Michael Holleran, as officially under courtship by the youngest member of the royal family, His Royal Highness Prince Henry of Wales. The two met at the Buckingham Palace holiday party this past December and have been inseparable ever since. Rumors were already flying after the royal helicopter was spotted landing at the Holleran estate in Hampshire. Those have now been confirmed.  
  
“Lady Nora is kind and intelligent, and we bonded quickly over a shared love of Charles Dickens and mutton pie. I look forward to continuing to spend time with her with an eye toward a future proposal,” Prince Henry stated.

— 

“I’m afraid I’ve wasted your time tonight. I should have told you not to come.”

Alex waits a moment before responding, searching Henry’s face. He can’t help but feel like Alex is learning everything he needs to know just by looking at him.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Alex finally says. He reaches out, sure as anything, and places his hands on Henry’s waist, drawing him closer. Henry thinks about saying he shouldn’t be touching him like this; he thinks about saying it’s not Alex’s place to ask that. 

Those thoughts flit out of his mind as quickly as they come, and instead, he takes a step forward, letting Alex pull him in flush from hip to shoulder. Alex’s hands, Alex’s body, even Alex’s hair tickling his chin are physical comfort in its purest form. Henry didn’t realize how desperate he was for it until it was happening.

“No.” Henry’s arms come around Alex’s shoulders, his fingers carding through Alex’s hair. It’s so soft. This is all he needs; he’ll allow himself this. Just this hug, and he’ll send Alex on his way.

Alex’s face tucks into his neck. He can feel Alex’s chest rising and falling against his own. It steadies him.

“I’m staying,” Alex says, muffled against his skin. “Whether you want me to or not.”

“Alex...” Henry draws back and looks deep into Alex’s eyes, slides his hands down Alex’s neck. “You know that’s not your call.”

“It is tonight.” Alex purses his lips. Henry’s heart clamps in his chest. 

“You’re so bloody stubborn.” It’s too casual of him to say, but it comes out anyway. 

“What do you want to watch?” Alex says abruptly. A small laugh escapes Henry.

“Pardon?”

Alex takes Henry’s hand and tugs him over to the bed. “What are we watching? What’s your comfort show?” Henry lets Alex push him down and looks on in disbelief as Alex climbs in next to him, glancing around. “Do you even have a TV in here or do we have to go some fancy theater room or something?”

“I usually just watch on my laptop,” Henry says, gesturing weakly at his nightstand. Alex opens the drawer and pulls it out. “But—” 

“Take your pants off,” Alex interrupts as he pulls up Netflix.

“Excuse me?”

“I’m sorry, I mean your trousers,” Alex says, affecting a British accent and wrinkling his nose. 

Henry just stares at him.

“Look,” Alex says. Henry suddenly feels the weight of Alex’s full attention directed at him, and it makes him want to squirm. “I know what happened this weekend. I can’t avoid the tabloids no matter how hard I try. I know that when something big happens to upset you, you can’t talk about it at first, you need time to process. I know that you want something to distract you, but sex is off the table, because you can’t turn your mind off enough to enjoy it. So we’re watching TV, something stupid and easy and fun, and we’re going to take our pants off and get comfortable, and I’m going to cuddle the shit out of you. Any arguments?”

Henry’s mouth drops open. He forces himself to close it. At some point along the way, Alex figured him out from start to end, from head to toe. He’s paid attention to everything, categorically documented Henry’s thoughts and reactions and desires. There’s no part of Henry that wants to argue; that’s exactly what he needs right now, and Alex knows it.

“Great British Bake Off,” Henry says, unfastening his trousers. Alex’s smile in response is radiant. He finds the show, then undoes his own chinos and wriggles out of them, unbuttons the top few buttons of his shirt. Alex pulls the blankets up over them, and Henry falls into his side, their legs tangling together and Alex’s arms coming around him. He rests his head on Alex’s shoulder, warming from the inside out.

Henry feels Alex kiss the top of his head as Mel and Sue explain the signature bake for bread week. It’s everything he needs in one simple, singular moment.

Henry wakes up, confused, to the sound of birds chirping. It’s still dark save for the dim light of the lamp on his nightstand. His laptop is on one side of him, dead, and on the other side is—Alex. Henry realizes, then, that Alex has an arm thrown over him. He’s pressed up against Henry’s back, and their legs are still intertwined. 

Henry reaches carefully for his phone to check the time. 5:14. He can’t remember the last time he slept for this many hours consecutively without waking up. Normally it takes hours just for him to fall asleep, but he only has a clear memory of Alex’s strong fingers massaging his head through one full episode of the show before things go blurry.

Henry’s pulse speeds up as Alex shifts behind him.

“Are you awake?” Alex murmurs, lips on his ear.

“Go back to sleep,” Henry whispers, turning his head back. 

Alex tugs on his hip until the rest of him turns over, too. Then Alex’s lips find his, his knee sliding between Henry’s thighs, pulling him close. There’s not a centimeter of space between them. It’s all morning breath and soft, pliant mouths and a muted noise of pleasure escaping Henry without him even realizing it. Alex pulls back and looks at him, his eyes warm, molten pools, and blinks once, twice, before closing them. 

Henry pulls Alex into his chest; Alex snuggles in happily. It’s easy to pretend, in these moonlit hours before dawn when all the world is still asleep, that this is just a dream, too, another fantasy overcoming Henry when he’s alone in the dark. He can hold Alex as tight as he wants here, inhale his scent and memorize the scratchy feel of his stubble on Henry’s collarbone, because in the morning he’ll wake up to find that none of it was real. Alex doesn’t spend the night; he can’t truly be here, now, in Henry’s bed and in Henry’s arms. 

So he runs the pads of his fingers over the planes of Alex’s back, all firm muscle and sharp shoulder blades, presses his mouth to Alex’s temple, listens to the barely-there sound of his breathing. He takes it all in so that when he wakes up alone, he can hold on to the shape of Alex like it’s a memory rather than a dream that slips too quickly from his grasp.

Henry doesn’t fall back asleep. Somehow, even as the sun comes up, Alex doesn’t disappear.

—

**Alex**  
what are you doing?

**Henry**  
Reviewing some accounting reports for the month.

**Alex**  
that sounds boring af

**Henry**  
What are you doing?

**Alex**  
don’t get mad  
i’m thinking about masturbating

**Henry**  
Alexander Gabriel Claremont-Diaz…

**Alex**  
how the fuck do you know my full name? spooky

**Henry**  
You are aware that I received a 143 page background report on you, aren’t you?

**Alex**  
super spooky  
should i masturbate?

**Henry**  
Alex. You’re supposed to be here in three hours. Why would you masturbate now?

**Alex**  
bc i’m thinking about being there in three hours and getting too excited

**Henry**  
Absolutely not. Don’t even consider it.

**Alex**  
is that an order, your highness?

**Henry**  
It is.

**Alex**  
i’ll still get it up for you later  
i promise

**Henry**  
I don’t want you getting off thinking about me without being there to see it.

**Alex**  
fuck that’s hot  
that’s going to majorly cut down on how much i get off…

**Henry**  
Christ, Alex.

**Alex**  
should i not have said that?

**Henry**  
I don’t think you should have said anything you’ve said in this conversation.  
But since you have, that’s an order. Don’t even think about touching yourself.

**Alex**  
what if i just get ready for you?  
finger myself?  
i won’t come, i swear

**Henry**  
If you arrive and I see, feel, or smell sex on you in any way, there will be a punishment administered.

**Alex**  
oh fuck  
that’s REALLY hot

**Henry**  
Don’t disappoint me.

Henry’s been aroused for three hours.

In the couple of months since he and Alex have been seeing each other again with the added bonus of near-daily text messages, they’ve never acknowledged their in-person relationship by text, nor their texting relationship in person. It’s a bizarre, delicate separation that enables Henry to allow both to continue.

Until tonight.

He can tell Alex is in some kind of mood the second he arrives. He’s got a cocky smirk on his face and he walks into the room like he owns it, straight up to where Henry’s sitting on the sofa, placing his hands on Henry’s shoulders and bending down. 

“I didn’t give you permission to approach me,” Henry murmurs, already fighting to maintain his authority over the situation.

“Apologies, Highness,” Alex breathes, but he doesn’t back down. Henry grabs for Alex’s hips and pulls him down, hard, onto his lap.

“Have you been good tonight, Alex?” Henry’s hand crawls up Alex’s spine and fists in his hair, giving a small tug. Alex’s mouth drops open, a quiet _ah_ escaping. “I’ll be very disappointed if you haven’t.”

“You tell me.” Alex’s eyes are all mischief.

“Unbutton your shirt for me.” Alex hesitates briefly; Henry gives another quick pull on his hair, harder this time. “Now.”

Alex’s hands move at that, flying down his chest as he works open the buttons. Henry keeps one hand in Alex’s hair and with the other, pushes one sleeve off his shoulder. He bows his head to Alex’s neck, inhaling deeply through his nose along the column there, the junction where it meets his shoulder, over his collarbone. Alex squirms in his lap a little. It certainly doesn’t help Henry feel any more in control.

Henry pulls Alex’s shirt off completely and drops it on the floor. God, the expanse of dark brown skin across his broad chest is tantalizing. He drags his eyes up to find Alex watching him, lips parted, breath coming shallowly.

“Good so far?” Alex says, but he sounds less cocky already.

“So far,” Henry says. He trails one finger down the center of Alex’s chest, then flattens his hand over Alex’s abdomen. Alex squirms again, and Henry laughs a little. “Christ. Stop that.”

“Yes, sir,” Alex replies, but then he bites his lip and does it again, clearly on purpose. 

“You’re pushing me tonight.” Henry pops open the button on Alex’s trousers, slowly drags down the zipper. He slips his hand under the fabric, rubbing Alex’s cock through his boxer briefs. Alex feels fucking incredible, hot and hard under his palm. “Could it be that you want to be punished?”

Alex bites his lip and bats his eyelashes over big, brown eyes. Henry refrains from making a very not princelike noise. “No, sir. I just want you.”

“We’ll see about that.” Henry rubs slowly up and down Alex’s length again before removing his hand. “Get up and strip.”

Alex doesn’t hesitate this time. He practically jumps off Henry’s lap and drops his trousers and underwear at once, kicking them to the side. He is truly breathtakingly beautiful, sinuous and elegant, strong and delicate at the same time. Henry wants to sink his teeth into him.

“Over my knee,” Henry says, then watches Alex visibly swallow. He looks slightly uncertain; Henry doesn’t know if he’s ever seen quite that look on Alex’s face before.

“Am I being punished?” Alex asks, moving to comply.

“Not yet.” Henry raises his arms to allow Alex to slide himself atop Henry’s thighs. Alex’s hands come to grip the arm of the sofa, his cock pressing into Henry’s thigh. Henry greedily runs his hands over Alex’s lush backside, squeezing lightly. “Are you nervous?”

“No, sir.”

“Good.” Henry fingers his way up Alex’s spine, then back down along the crevice of his arse, enthralled by the gooseflesh that visibly breaks out over Alex’s skin. “You know I’ll always take care of you, right?”

Henry only realizes after the words have come out how Alex might take them. He needs to be more clear, especially with things getting more...confusing, again.

“Thank you, sir,” Alex says, almost a whisper. Henry sinks his fingers into the flesh of Alex’s arse, marveling at how deep they go. Then he pulls apart his cheeks, biting his lip at the sight of Alex’s puckered hole. _Christ._ What has he gotten himself into?

“Did you touch yourself here, Alex?” Henry rubs his thumb around the rim while Alex squirms in his lap. It’s immediately obvious that he’s loose, still slick with lube. 

“No,” Alex says. Henry swats his arse, delighting in Alex’s surprised, _“Oh.”_

“Don’t lie to me, or you’ll only make this harder on yourself.” Henry continues rubbing his thumb over Alex’s hole, pressing in just barely. Alex lets out a breathy moan.

“Okay. Fine. I did, a little. I just...wanted you.”

Heat flares up Henry’s neck at Alex’s words. He brings his hand down again, smacking a little harder this time. Alex makes a faint noise.

“I told you to wait for me. Did I not?”

“Yeah, you did.” Alex’s voice is low. Henry smacks his butt again, noting the way the skin is already reddening, the way Alex’s fingers dig in to the plush arm of the sofa. His own hand is tingling pleasantly. Alex whimpers a little, then says, “I’m sorry, sir.”

“Do you think you deserve a punishment for disobeying me?” Henry’s got an aroused, nervous energy thrumming just below his skin. This is different than anything they’ve done before. He thinks Alex wants it—he must. Otherwise, why would he have touched himself when Henry told him not to? Why would he have walked in here like he’s suddenly forgotten all the protocols Henry put in place?

“I—I guess so.”

Henry pauses a moment, considering. Then, he spanks Alex with significantly more force than the other little swats he’s given him so far. Alex cries out in earnest, pressing his face into the cushion. Henry’s hand throbs from the impact of it.

“Fuck,” Alex chokes out. Henry definitely needs to check in.

“Are you okay? Is this okay?” 

“Yes, please,” Alex says, half moan, half words. “Fuck, fuck. I deserve it.”

Henry spanks the other cheek with the same amount of force. Alex’s cries fill the room, and he grinds his cock into Henry’s thigh.

“You do deserve it. Don’t even think about rubbing yourself off on me, either. I’m very displeased with you. We’ll have to see whether I allow you to come at all tonight.” Henry brings his hand down again. Alex’s breathing is coming hard and fast, but his hips have stilled. 

“Please, sir, I won’t do it again.”

“How can I be sure of that? Maybe I should send you home hard and aching after I fuck you, just to make sure the message sinks in.” Henry gives three blows in rapid succession over the same spot. Alex jerks in his lap, groaning. 

“How many more, sir?”

“How many can you take?”

“ _Fuck._ You decide. I’m so hard.”

Henry gives three blows on the other cheek, now. Alex’s arse is littered with red marks in the shape of Henry’s fingers. Henry thinks it shouldn’t turn him on so much, but it does. Especially with Alex leaking onto his thigh.

“I want you to think about me all week when you sit down. I want you aching for me. I want your arse covered in marks.”

“Oh, God,” Alex moans as Henry pinches the backs of his thighs, then unleashes his full strength on him again. 

“You love it, don’t you?” Henry murmurs, surveying Alex’s skin. His own hand is stinging hotly.

“Yes, sir. Thank you.”

Henry grabs a fistful of flesh, digging his nails into the tender redness. Alex wails, but he’s starting to rut himself against Henry’s lap again.

“You’ve done very well,” Henry says, smoothing over the skin with the flat of his palm. “Are you eager for me to fuck you?”

“Fuck, yes,” Alex groans.

“You know I’m going to make you work for it, right?” Henry feels like a different person this deep into it—not like a reluctant prince trying to hide in the shadows, avoiding attention, but like someone powerful and sure of himself. Someone who knows what he wants, what he _deserves,_ and can demand it. Only Alex brings this out in him; it’s intoxicating.

“Yes, sir, please make me work hard for you.” Alex’s every response is the perfect chorus of submission. It makes Henry’s dick throb painfully in his trousers. 

Henry pulls Alex up off his lap, meeting his eyes for the first time since he lay down there. They’re blown out, glinting, dark and _alive._ His entire face is flushed, his lips swollen from biting at them, his hair a mess falling over his forehead. Fuck, he’s gorgeous. Henry wants him more in this moment than he can ever remember wanting him before.

He reaches out a hand and brings it to Alex’s jaw, thumbing over his lower lip. Alex captures his thumb with his mouth and sucks it in, laving his tongue over it. Henry feels it all the way down to his groin.

“Are you all right?” he says quietly, holding Alex’s gaze. Alex lets go of his thumb with a wet popping noise and gives him a heated look.

“I’m fine,” he says pointedly. Henry can’t help but laugh.

“You’ve been so good for me. Why don’t you lie over that end of the sofa and show me your arse?” 

Alex moves immediately, facing away from Henry and sticking his butt in the air. Henry marvels at the stripes of color all over it, the way his throbbing hand feels connected with the singed skin.

He spreads Alex’s cheeks apart again and leans down, bringing his mouth to Alex’s hole. He hears Alex’s sharp intake of breath as he circles his tongue around it, then gently prods. Alex definitely worked himself open well; Henry’s tongue slides right in.

“Oh my fucking God,” Alex says, wrapping his arms around the throw cushion in the corner of the sofa and pressing his face into it. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”

“Is that nice?” Henry murmurs. He keeps Alex’s cheeks spread wide, heat emanating off them from the spanking, and fucks in and out of Alex with his tongue, pausing to tease at the rim. Alex immediately lets out a litany of curse words and nonsensical pleading. Every word sends aroused energy pulsing through Henry. He wants to make Alex desperate for him—as desperate as he is for Alex, every second of every fucking day.

After a couple of minutes of working Alex up until he’s shoving himself back into Henry’s mouth, moaning and begging, Henry sits back, in awe of the way Alex’s hole clenches around the space where he’d been. Christ.

“I’m going to fuck you now,” Henry says, and Alex immediately scrambles to sit up. “But first I’ll need you to undress me.”

“Everything, Your Highness?”

“Yes.” Alex quickly pulls Henry out of his clothes, letting his hands linger on Henry’s newly exposed skin, brushes as light as a breeze. It feels like wildfire spreading across him; he’s turned on by every gentle touch, accidental or intentional. When he stands to allow Alex to tug his trousers and boxers off, Alex actually bites his lip and moans at the sight of his cock, flushed deep red and leaking copious amounts of precome.

“Please fuck me, please fuck me _now,_ ” Alex begs.

“Where’s the lube?” Henry asks. Alex scrambles to pull the small bottle out of his discarded trousers on the floor. “Get me wet for you.”

Alex’s hands on him bring the sweetest relief, pure pleasure after what feels like hours of aching want. He stops Alex from jerking him off in earnest with a hand on his wrist, taking the bottle from him and tossing it on the floor. Then, he directs Alex with his hands to stand between his legs, facing away from him.

“You’re going to sit on my cock,” Henry says. He scratches his nails lightly down the tender skin of Alex’s arse, delighting in the small, squeaking noise he hears in response. “Now.”

“Yes, sir,” Alex breathes, and he lowers himself slowly into Henry’s lap. Henry guides his cock to Alex’s hole with his fingers until Alex seats himself fully on top of him, his back to Henry’s chest. It’s the most unreal pleasure Henry thinks he’s ever experienced. He can feel the heat of Alex’s skin on his thighs, the trembling that takes over Alex’s limbs. Henry is as deep inside Alex as he possibly can be, and Alex relaxes against him for a moment, the two of them breathing in tandem, taking in their shared connection.

Henry scrapes his teeth against Alex’s shoulder and feels a shiver run through his body. He places his hands on Alex’s hips and pulls himself back as he encourages Alex to lift up. Alex comes partway off his cock before sinking back down just as Henry fucks up into him, and like that, they find a desperate, sensual rhythm together. 

The room fills with the sound of their combined moans, Alex’s breathy and high-pitched, Henry’s low and grunting. It feels like Alex is everywhere, all around him, covering him completely. He’s overwhelmed by it, _devoured_ by it—by him. Alex tightens and clenches as he drags himself up and down Henry’s cock, and Henry’s hips give tiny little thrusts, seeking out every inch of him. He rubs his hands all over Alex’s chest and stomach, pinching at a nipple and losing himself in the feel of Alex’s skin.

Everything builds in Henry quickly after being turned on for so long without doing anything about it. At some point, Alex seats himself fully on Henry’s lap, brings his hands up behind Henry’s head to fist in his hair, lets his head drop back against Henry’s shoulder, and meets Henry’s mouth in a desperate, messy, open-mouthed kiss. 

Henry reaches for Alex’s cock, reeling at the vibrations of Alex crying out in his mouth. Alex grinds down onto Henry, circling his hips, and Henry’s enveloped in pleasure as he comes with a choked groan, spilling hot and deep inside Alex, his entire body shaking. 

He squeezes Alex’s cock, jerking him hard and fast. Alex grits out, “Please, please, please,” and Henry barely manages to tell him to come before he’s spurting over Henry’s fingers. Henry rubs the fluid into him as Alex gasps and twitches helplessly into his hand, and _fuck._

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Alex gasps. All Henry can do is nod pathetically in agreement. They’re both panting, completely destroyed. After a few long moments, Henry encourages Alex’s hips up off of him. Alex collapses into his side, breathing moist air against his skin as Henry’s arm comes around him. Henry looks down at him, and Alex looks up, and a rush of emotion overtakes him. He thinks he sees it in Alex’s eyes, too.

Henry likes the way Alex is looking at him. Too much.

Henry’s not supposed to feel close to Alex like this. He’s not supposed to want to pull Alex against him and hold him for the rest of his fucking life. He’s not supposed to whimper from the pure pleasure of Alex reaching up to brush rough fingers against his jaw, because all he needs in that moment is the perfect intimacy they share.

It might be nonsensical, Henry thinks, but he’s sure it has something to do with those text messages leading up to _this._ They weren’t supposed to cross over. There was supposed to be some sort of boundary, invisible and unspoken as it was.

He aches with wanting.

It’s physical. Just physical. It’s a transaction. It’s money in Alex’s pocket and Henry’s opportunity to live out this part of who he is. Nothing more.

The problem is, this part of who he is feels like it goes deep, straight to the very core of him, and letting Alex see it, touch it, kiss it—it’s growing the tiny, flickering flame there into something much bigger. Something all-consuming. Something that’s sucking the oxygen out of him and altering him fundamentally, irreversibly.

And Alex is still _looking_ at him like that. 

_Don’t kiss him,_ Henry tells himself, even as Alex tilts his head up. _Don’t kiss him. Don’t kiss him._

Alex kisses him first.

—

**Alex**  
yo, it should not be this much of a turn on for it to hurt to sit down  
what have you done to me?!

**Henry**  
Only what you deserved.

**Alex**  
fksldfasdlkfj


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll just be quiet today and let you get on to the chapter. Please know that I appreciate each and everyone one of you so much! <3

Henry’s in bed reading when the intercom system beeps, startling him out of his reverie. It’s unusual for anyone to call for him this late, and his pulse spikes.

“Yes?”

Shaan’s voice crackles over the speaker. “Your Highness. My apologies for disturbing you.”

“What is it, Shaan?”

“Mr. Claremont-Diaz is here at the palace. He’s asking for you. I’m afraid he won’t leave until you give word for him to do so.”

The spike quickly turns into a solid, heavy thudding. It’s Sunday, already past 10 P.M. What could Alex possibly be here for that couldn’t have waited until tomorrow?

“You can send him up.”

“You’re sure, sir?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

It takes a few minutes for Alex to get through the PPOs’ usual security check and make his way to Henry’s rooms. The soft knock at the door is familiar; Alex’s eyes, wide and wild and framed by deep purple half-moons, are not. Henry can see them from across the room, and he jumps up immediately, meeting Alex halfway.

“Alex. What’s the matter?”

Alex opens his mouth, then closes it. His eyes fall shut, and he shakes his head. Henry’s hands come to grip his shoulders automatically, scrutinizing his face for any hint of what could be going on.

Finally, Alex says, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come here. I just didn’t know where else to go.”

“You don’t have anything to apologize for.” The words are out of Henry’s mouth before he can think, and he’s surprised by how much he means them. If Alex is in trouble, Henry wants to be the one he comes to. “Do you need a place to stay? I can have you set up in the guest quarters.”

Alex shakes his head again, then looks up at Henry, slightly calmer. His eyes still have a manic glint to them. 

“Can I stay here with you?” It comes out a whisper. 

Henry stares at him helplessly, the decision already made, even though he knows it’s a terrible idea. “Of course. Have you eaten? Do you need anything? Is your family okay?”

“They’re fine. Just…” Alex’s eyes dart to the bed, and he swallows. “Can I...?”

“Yes. Go ahead. Whatever you need.” 

Alex scrubs a hand over his face. Then, completely surprising Henry, he wraps his arms around Henry’s waist and pulls him into a tight hug. Alex inhales deeply into his chest while Henry just holds him, at an utter and complete loss.

After a minute, Alex pulls back and murmurs, “Thank you.” 

Henry watches him walk over to what he already thinks of as Alex’s side of the bed, pulling his shirt over his head, dropping his jeans on the floor, climbing up and under the covers in only his boxers. He sinks back against the lush pillows, closing his eyes immediately. Henry realizes he’s staring, mouth slightly open, and forces himself to move. He gets back in bed as well and reaches for his book, even knowing there’s no hope of him taking in another word tonight.

What could have happened? And why, of all places, did Alex come _here,_ when he has a boyfriend and a sister and likely many other friends he could have called upon?

Before his mind can run wild imagining the myriad possibilities, Alex rolls onto his side and presses himself against Henry’s body. Henry’s mind spins off in an entirely different direction.

Alex takes his hand, laces their fingers together, then brings their joined hands to his lips. He kisses Henry’s knuckles, mouth open, while Henry’s breath catches in his throat.

“Henry,” Alex says, so quiet Henry thinks he may have imagined it. But then Alex’s eyes blink up at him, seemingly imploring him to come down to his level. Henry puts the book back on the nightstand and slides down until he’s lying on his side, too, eye to eye with him. Henry’s never seen Alex like this before; he looks shaken, fragile, and when he presses his mouth to Henry’s, he feels it, too.

Henry kisses him back, sinking into the familiarity of it. Alex fists a hand in Henry’s soft gray t-shirt and pulls him close, closer, until their bodies are flush together, legs entwined. Alex keeps pulling until Henry is half on top of him, and Henry feels his body responding in entirely unhelpful ways.

“Alex, no,” Henry says against his lips. He tries to turn his head, but Alex holds him close with a hand gripping the back of his neck. “This isn’t necessary. You’re in no state—”

_“Please,”_ Alex says. “I need you.” It sounds as raw and rough as Henry has ever imagined it, alone in the dark. Alex rolls his hips up, making Henry groan.

“You need rest,” Henry murmurs, even though he knows the game is already lost. Alex just kisses him again, slips his tongue into Henry’s mouth and slides his hands down Henry’s sides until they’re resting on his hips. He pushes Henry down into him; the feel of Alex hard against his own growing erection is dizzying, only the thin cloth of Alex’s boxers and Henry’s pajama bottoms separating them.

Henry gives up. He kisses Alex and grinds down against him. Alex’s kisses turn messy, part lips, part moan, part sharply inhaled breath—all desperate and urgent and wanting. Alex is writhing up against him, directing the movement of Henry’s hips with warm, heavy palms, setting a rhythm that leaves Henry gasping, too. 

At one point, Henry lets his hand drift over Alex’s bare stomach, trying to lift himself up and peel Alex’s boxers away, but Alex makes a frustrated noise and holds him firmly in place to rut up against. Henry lets go, then, of any control over what’s happening, lets Alex use him however he needs, and Alex rewards him with hands drifting up the back of his shirt, strong fingers digging into tense muscles, the incredible feeling of skin on skin, always like it’s the first time. 

Alex sucks Henry’s lower lip into his mouth, moans, and then throws his head back. Henry only has a moment to take in Alex’s beautiful, flushed face—lips parted over a flash of white teeth, eyes squeezed shut, brow furrowed—before Alex is choking out the most raw, flayed noise Henry has ever heard from him and jerking helplessly up against Henry’s body. Henry holds him through it, pressing back, trying to let Alex find every last drop of pleasure in the friction between them. Alex’s body slows, save for the heaving of his chest as he sucks in air. Henry doesn’t even consider his own desire in that moment, doesn’t think about how hard he still is; he just wants Alex to have what he needs.

Alex’s fingers drip their way down Henry’s spine until they’re freed from under his shirt, then find their way up to his face, clutching at him, brushing the hair back from Henry’s forehead with his thumb. He gazes up at Henry calmly, now, his eyes looking more normal, less the usual sparkling mischief. He at least looks present again, not like his entire body is about to unspool in a thousand different directions.

“Do you want to get cleaned up?” Henry says, voice rough, all too aware of the mess wetting their clothes between them. “You can use the washroom, take a shower or whatever—whatever you want.”

Alex blinks slowly, then expels what must be every last bit of breath in his lungs in a heavy sigh. “Come with me?”

It appears Alex doesn’t want to be left alone for a second. Henry leads him to the en suite and turns on the shower, testing the water with his hand. Once it’s comfortable, he hooks his thumbs in Alex’s damp boxers and tugs them down. Alex does the same to him in return, and Henry gestures for him to get in first. 

Alex stands facing the spray. Henry steps up behind him, guiltily still mostly hard. He wraps his arms around Alex’s waist from behind; Alex melts back into him like soft butter. Henry washes him carefully, sucks soft kisses into his neck and shoulder, gratified by Alex’s hand coming up to reach behind his head, fisting in his hair. 

All of it feels good, so good—too good. Too comfortable, too intimate, too familiar, like this could be their _life._

Henry went down this road once before, let himself think there was more to this than there actually was. The way Alex _needs_ him tonight—came to him when he didn’t know where else to go—makes him feel that way again. He tries to tell himself that Alex is simply using him as an available resource for shelter, a bed, a body. But then Alex turns around abruptly, pulling Henry into the spray, and kisses him so softly, water pouring between their lips, that Henry’s mind goes blank. Alex’s fingers wrap around his cock, and Henry moans before he can stop himself.

“Alex, please,” he tries again, not sure what to say, just wanting to communicate that Alex doesn’t _owe_ him anything for this. That Henry would set fire to the entire palace and watch it burn without an ounce of remorse if that’s what Alex needed. “I’m fine, you don’t have to—”

“I know I don’t,” Alex says, voice stronger than Henry’s heard it yet tonight. He kisses Henry again and Henry gets lost in the drag and slide of his lips and his hand, in the slick, steamy warmth of the water pounding down on them, in the heat and hunger of Alex’s touch. Henry closes his eyes, because he’s weak and because he wants Alex more than he’s ever wanted anything in his life, wants Alex to need this the same way he needs Alex, even knowing it will never be true.

At some point, Alex’s free hand finds his arse and teases along the crevice, presses firmly against the soft flesh. Liquid warmth pools in Henry’s lower back, spills into his groin, and it doesn’t take long after that for Henry’s thighs to seize up. He comes in Alex’s hand, water dripping into his mouth as his head falls back, a quiet groan escaping him. Alex works him through it, kisses down his neck and over his chest, rinses them both off, taking special care with Henry’s sensitive cock. Henry shivers, despite the steam. 

Alex reaches to turn off the tap, and Henry’s scared that when he turns back, he’ll find some faraway look in Alex’s eyes, some indication that even though he’s physically present, his thoughts are elsewhere. When their eyes meet, though, Alex’s are clear and soft and focused on him.

They dry off and make their way back to the bed, slipping under the sheets naked this time. Alex immediately presses up against Henry again, backing up into his chest. Henry folds his body over Alex’s, immensely grateful for the feeling of just how perfectly he fits there.

“Thank you, Henry,” Alex whispers. He tilts his head back for one more kiss.

“Good night, Alex,” Henry whispers back.

Henry’s alarm blares at six the next morning, but Alex doesn’t stir. He gets ready for the day quietly, leaving a note on the nightstand just in case.

_A—_  
_Early meetings. Will be back by noon. Stay as long as you like, and feel free to call down for breakfast._  
_—H_

When he returns, eyes heavy with somnolence, he’s surprised to find Alex sitting up in bed under a massive tray filled with a full English breakfast spread. Alex grins at him when he sees him, and Henry’s heart positively soars at the sight of it. Despite the note, he thought Alex would be long gone. The question _does your boyfriend know you’re here?_ occurs to Henry, but then— 

“I’ll never get over what y’all consider breakfast food.” Alex shakes his head, startling a laugh out of Henry. “These beans are disgusting.”

“It’s important to start your day with protein.” Henry sets his briefcase down by the door, loosening his tie as he crosses the room, his steps lighter than they have been all day.

“Beans can have flavor, you know.” Alex’s face is all revulsion, but his eyes betray the familiar old roguish sparkle. It lights Henry up inside. “You need to try some real Mexican beans.”

“I’m not sure where I’m going to find someone who can cook authentic Mexican cuisine. Unless you’re offering?”

“You’re telling me a prince of England can’t get someone here to cook Mexican food for him?” Alex purses his lips. Henry slides on the bed next to him, but before he can respond, Alex cuts him off. “No, don’t bother, they won’t make it as good as me.”

Henry’s cheeks stretch with the size of his smile. “Is that a promise?”

“Baby, I’ll blow your mind.” Alex grins through a huge bite of sausage, and Henry exerts significant effort not to feel like he’s been punched in the gut at the pet name. It’s been months since he told Alex not to call him anything but his official title, and though he’s let his given name slip in the unusual circumstances, it’s a lot to hear _baby_ uttered so casually. He tries to shake it off as a joke.

Despite the joy of bantering with Alex like everything is normal, Henry can’t resist asking, “So, do you want to tell me what brought you to the palace last night?” The shadow that crosses Alex’s face is slight, but Henry still notices it. He grabs a piece of Alex’s toast off the tray and takes a bite, trying to stay casual.

“Just being a drama queen, as usual. Thanks for putting up with me. You didn’t have to.” Alex snatches the toast out of Henry’s hand, narrowing his eyes. “Get your own breakfast.”

“I’ve had breakfast,” Henry says, laughing. “It’s past noon already.”

“I could get used to these kinds of amenities,” Alex tells him. Henry tries to keep the utter hope off his face and out of his heart at the idea of Alex one day wanting to live in the palace with him.

“You’re welcome here anytime,” he says softly.

“So you’re not going to kick me out today?” Alex squints at him. “Because I was thinking it doesn’t really make sense for me to leave just to come back tonight. If you still wanted to see me tonight, that is.”

“I won’t kick you out.” Henry’s heart thuds distinctly in his chest. “In fact, I’m done with my meetings for the day, if you wanted to...spend some time together.”

Alex’s face lights up. “Yes! Can I get a tour?”

Henry laughs again, this time in surprise.

The day turns unexpectedly delightful. The palace is closed to the public on Mondays, and Alex drags Henry around everywhere he can, asking questions about what historical event took place in that room and who lived here back in the day and has it always been decorated like this?, because it looks like they’ve time traveled to 1642. 

Henry enjoys it more than he thinks he should; there’s something about sharing his home and his history with Alex that fills him to the brim with contentment—maybe because he doesn’t have to pretend it’s all positive and perfect with him. The only person more critical of the monarchy than Alex is Henry himself, and Alex listens just as intently while Henry shares the family history he’s ashamed of, too. Alex doesn’t criticize now; he follows up with pointed questions and insightful comments and soft brown eyes full of understanding. It feels so good, so liberating, to talk like this with someone who doesn’t act like he should be beheaded for treason.

At some point, they collapse on a bench to rest. Alex goes quiet, a pensive look coming over his face, and Henry can't help asking, “Penny for your thoughts?”

Alex shoots him a smirk; Henry’s face heats up. He takes a pause before answering. “I’m just thinking about...how I was so fucking wrong about you at the start of all this.”

That is not at all what Henry expected him to say. “What do you mean?” 

“I just...kind of thought of this job as the ultimate Robin Hood job. The monarchy is such a useless fucking institution, and still manages to do so much awful shit. And I thought you’d be right there with it, and it’d be easy to collect my check and make fun of your pompous prince ass behind your back. But you’re as much a victim of it as everyone else.” Alex’s eyes are locked on Henry, magnetic. Henry can’t look away from him; he can barely breathe. “Because you’ve been broken down by it to the point that you don’t even know this isn’t real life. That there’s an alternative. And by some fucking miracle, you still came out of it with all these radical thoughts and ideas, you were just never given the tools to use them. I never thought I’d say this about a rich white guy, but the way you talk about this stuff, I can’t help but feel like...like our liberation is bound up together.”

All the oxygen in Henry’s body is sucked out of him at once.

“So you don’t think I’m just an overprivileged prick?” he manages to say, even with his internal organs violently rearranging themselves inside his torso as he tries to process what Alex has said. Alex’s resulting laugh is loud and full, echoing down the empty palace hall.

“You’re definitely overprivileged, and you’re a prick like seventy-four percent of the time. Approximately.” Henry’s about to needle him in return, trying to find his footing; before he can, Alex continues, “But you’re trying. So fucking hard, every goddamn day. I can see that now.”

Alex’s words hit Henry in the throat, and any response he was about throw back shrivels up and dies there. He closes his eyes and inhales slowly, trying to let himself accept what Alex is saying, to truly take it in. At that moment, Alex’s hand comes to rest on the back of his neck. The gesture is simple, casual, but it also feels full of weight.

Henry _is_ trying—has always been trying. Trying to figure out why he was put in this position and how to use it for good. Trying to be someone his grandmother and his country could be proud of...someone he’s not, and never will be. Trying to survive, even when it feels overwhelmingly impossible.

It’s never felt like enough for anyone. Until Alex. 

Henry blinks his eyes open again to find Alex still watching him with the ghost of a smile on his lips. Henry looks down, unsure of how to move forward. They sit in companionable silence for another couple of minutes, Henry’s heart skipping inside his chest. Then Alex jumps to his feet and tugs him up by the hand. “Let’s go.”

The utter contentment Henry’s been experiencing all afternoon threatens to spill over when Alex glances furtively around, pushes him up against the wall of the King’s Staircase, and kisses him breathless, like he was trying to wait until they got back to Henry’s rooms and just couldn’t bear it anymore. Henry vaguely remembers that he was trying to avoid this mirage of intoxicating giddiness. It doesn’t seem as necessary at the moment, with Alex crowded up to him against an old portrait, tugging his hair at the root.

They stroll back to Henry’s apartments and collect David for a walk on the grounds. Alex keeps glancing over at him, and Henry keeps meeting his eyes, and a thrill runs through him every time, like they’re in on some shared secret. It’s unbelievably freeing to be with Alex _outside,_ basking in the rare sunshine on their faces, talking and jabbing at each other and laughing together—like the contents of their text messages brought to life. It’s so different from the suffocating shame and guilt of the four gilded walls in Henry’s bedroom. Alex always makes him forget it momentarily, but when he’s gone, it inevitably comes back to drown him.

The backs of their hands brush together three times before Alex reaches over and interlaces their fingers. Henry somehow manages to keep up the conversation with Alex’s hand warm and steady in his, but when they get back to his apartments, he can’t remember a single thing they talked about.

“I’m starving,” Alex declares, dropping onto the floor of the music room. David trots over to him, and Alex starts to wrestle with him, laughing as David pins him down and licks all over his face. Henry’s not sure how much more his heart can take.

“How do you feel about falafel?”

Within a half hour, they’re both sprawled on the floor and enjoying falafel wraps from Henry’s favorite stand near the palace. Alex moans over how good it is, and Henry hides the enormity his smile behind his food. 

After, Alex crawls on top of him and kisses him and kisses him, garlic breath and all. He pins Henry’s wrists above his head and drags his mouth down Henry’s neck and lazily rocks his hips. It’s a meandering kind of kissing, not leading anywhere necessarily, and a restless, joyful buzzing builds up under Henry’s skin. 

They slow at some point. Henry traces meaningless patterns all over Alex’s back with his fingers, and Alex plays with Henry’s hair. They’re not talking, just inhabiting each other’s space, enjoying the feel of one another. Henry could, he thinks, get addicted to this feeling. He knows he should be worried about the possibility, but at the moment, he can’t bring himself to be.

After a while, he tentatively breaks the silence.

“I’m going to Barcelona this weekend for a conference.” Alex makes a noncommittal noise in response, then pulls back to look Henry in the eyes. “I know it’s last minute, so no obligation whatsoever, but I was wondering if...if you’d like to come with me.”

Alex’s face lights up. “Free trip to Barcelona? With you? Hell yes. I’m in.”

Henry wraps his arms tighter around Alex’s waist and steadfastly pushes aside the very loud warning bell ringing in his head that sounds suspiciously like _Liam, Liam, Liam._


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eeeee I truly cannot believe we're here at Barcelona! I absolutely loved writing this chapter and I hope you enjoy reading it just as much. <3 Just so everyone is clear on the posting schedule, there are only 2 more updates after today - the last chapter will be accompanied by an epilogue posted on the same day. So the fic will finish on Sunday. :o
> 
> **Content warnings for this chapter:** felching, religion (Catholicism/Christianity) & spirituality (what a combo)

It’s Alex’s first time in a private plane, and his glee is written all over his face. Bubbly warmth effervesces within Henry at seeing it. He can’t help but think how much he wants to show Alex all the other benefits and privileges of being a royal, to see his eyes light up in wonder just like this over and over again.

“I think you’re ruining me for commercial air travel,” Alex says, reclining in his seat and putting his feet up.

“I’m all right with that,” Henry says, the smile permanently stuck on his face, it seems. “You know that as my, well, you know, you can have access to whatever you want, right?”

“That wasn’t in the contract.” Alex smirks at him.

“Forget the contract. You must know by now that I’d never deny you anything.” Henry feels his ears burn as the words escape, unbidden, from his mouth. Alex’s expression has gone inscrutable, and Henry’s heart is suddenly in his throat.

“Except an orgasm.” The smirk is back. Henry’s heart retreats slightly.

“I always let you get there eventually,” he points out, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes. You’re a very generous overlord.” Before Henry can come up with a good retort, there’s a knock on the door, and a flight attendant enters, holding two bottles.

“Your Highness, can I offer you a glass of wine?”

Their suite is on the top floor of an old but beautiful hotel located right on the _Passeig de Gràcia,_ a wide boulevard lined with looming trees, couture shops, and Gaudí architecture. The rooms are lavishly decorated in dark wood antique furniture and classic art. Alex wastes no time in throwing himself on the palatial bed and rolling around in glee.

“Okay, I’ve stayed in some nice places, but this is awesome.” Alex grins up at him, propped up on his elbows. He pats the bed next to him. “You coming?”

Henry watches him from the doorway to the sitting room. “You don’t want to go out tonight, then?”

“It’s already 10:30.”

“We are in Spain,” Henry tells him. “The night’s just getting started here.”

“Do _you_ want to go out?”

Henry can’t help the corners of his mouth turning up at how unenthused Alex sounds by the idea. “We can do whatever you want. There’s always room service.”

“Perfect.” Alex sits up and starts stripping, throwing clothes off the side of the bed. “Are you coming, or what?”

They don’t get room service. 

Alex distracts Henry by pulling him down and pressing into him with hot hands and an eager mouth. He draws moans out of Henry, moans that get caught in his throat, slow and sticky like warm honey dripping fresh from the comb. Henry’s not sure when he gave in so completely, let his guard down and let Alex in again. Maybe it was the night Alex held him as he slept, or the knowledge that Alex sought him out for comfort in his time of need. It’s clear to Henry, as Alex swallows him down, fingers gripping bruises into his hips, that any control he thought he had over the situation is lost.

So, he thinks, flipping Alex onto his back to greedily return the favor, he might as well enjoy it.

Henry puts in his time at the conference the next day, getting his photo taken shaking hands and listening to presentations. All the while, he’s thinking about Alex, who he left in bed with plans to wander around the city, wondering what he’s doing and if he’s enjoying himself. Henry’s done for the day at two, when the conference breaks for lunch and siesta, and he’s delighted to find a text from Alex containing only an address.

His driver takes him to a residential neighborhood, pulling up in front of a nondescript corner bar. Henry emerges from the car and his eyes immediately catch on Alex, sitting at a crappy plastic table on the sidewalk outside. Alex doesn’t notice him right away, so Henry drinks in the sight of him, dressed casually in shorts and a chambray, the sun highlighting his dark hair and walnut skin. He’s stunningly beautiful, even more so when he sees Henry and his eyes light up.

Alex is already pouring red wine into Henry’s glass from the bottle on the table before Henry’s fully seated in the plastic chair across from him.

“Hey,” Alex says, looking exceptionally pleased, “Your Highness.”

“Hello,” Henry responds, feeling overdressed. He removed his suit jacket and tie in the car, but he’s still in a button down and nice trousers. “Nice place. How’d you find it?”

“I sweet talked the hotel concierge in Spanish into telling me where the real food is,” Alex says casually. “He’s definitely gay, in case you’re interested. And cute. And he lives in this neighborhood.”

Henry chokes out a laugh while Alex grins at him. A server arrives at that moment, and he and Alex exchange several words in Spanish that are far too fast for Henry to understand. Henry tries not to squirm in his chair; he’s suddenly quite hot under the collar.

“What was that about?” Henry says, nodding to the server as he walks away. Alex considers him for a moment before taking a sip of wine.

“Don’t worry, baby. I’m gonna take care of you.” 

Henry’s stomach flips.

The concierge’s recommendation is spot on; the food is amazing and the wine is flowing. They make their way through the multicourse meal at a leisurely pace, which Henry thinks is appropriate for Spain, but somehow he’s never really had the experience before. Alex tells him about his morning walking around the city, which it turns out quickly got interrupted when he stopped for coffee and ended up chatting with an old man for two hours about Catalonia’s separatist politics. 

“Did you know the Catalan language and culture were completely repressed under the Franco dictatorship? I mean, this was into the seventies. So there’s a whole generation of adults alive today who only learned to speak Catalan in secret with their families, and they had to pretend to assume this false Spanish national identity or whatever to stay alive. It’s unbelievable. And totally reminiscent of the assimilationist, English-only bullshit in the U.S. No wonder the Catalans want independence. Who’s to stop it from happening again? Jaume had so many stories about growing up like—what?” 

Henry realizes he’s smiling ear to ear. He tries to tamp down on it, given the subject matter, and motions for Alex to continue.

They linger over their flan. They’re both well and tipsy at this point with a bottle and a half of wine split, the remainder in their glasses, waiting to be drunk. Henry’s startled when he checks his watch and finds it's almost four.

“Do you have any other commitments today?” Alex asks. Henry stares at his wine-reddened lips and slowly shakes his head. The smile that curves over them can only be described as evil. “Good.”

Alex insists on paying the bill, which Henry protests extensively until he shows him that it was only ten euros a piece. 

“That just goes to show that money can’t buy everything,” Henry muses drunkenly as they pile into the car. “That was one of the best meals of my life.”

“I’ll be sure to let Antoni know.” Alex raises his eyebrows. Henry tries to shove him, but Alex catches his wrists, and the ride passes in a mess of heated kissing and wandering hands. Henry has never been so grateful for tinted windows and the partition separating them from the driver; he doesn’t think he could keep his hands off Alex if he tried.

The ride up to the hotel room feels interminable in the small, slow elevator, the air thick between them. As soon as they get inside, Alex pushes Henry down on the sofa, then starts unbuttoning his own shirt.

“I want you,” Alex says in a low voice, heated gaze directed straight at him. The words reverberate through Henry’s body, goosebumps erupting all over his skin and arousal tugging low in his belly. Alex makes quick work of his clothes, and the lapful of naked Alex Claremont-Diaz that Henry soon receives has him moaning in pleasure. 

They make out for a while, Alex’s tongue curling tantalizingly into Henry’s mouth, until Henry’s panting, sweat dripping down the back of his neck and shirt. Alex’s hands are all over him, pressing into his shoulder, rubbing against his chest, slipping around his waist. He’s drunk and hot and wrapped up in the bliss of having Alex like this, here in Barcelona, of being out in public with him, of Alex buying him lunch and treating him like his fucking boyfriend. 

And Henry’s been _so good._ He’s kept his distance; he’s held to his side of the agreement they made. It’s Alex who’s always drawing him into this other kind of intimacy, even as Henry pushes him away. Henry can only be expected to stand it for so long, to resist and resist and resist, before he gives in and lets himself fucking _have_ it. Have Alex, the way he really wants him.

Even if only for this weekend. Things can go back to normal after this—at least, their fucked up version of normal. For now, he wants to pretend. 

Henry’s lips find Alex’s throat, sucking. Alex throws his head back, tangling his fingers up in Henry’s hair. He murmurs a mix of sweet and dirty words in Henry’s ear, and Henry’s swept up it, only half-hearing him in the fog of arousal that’s descended upon him. 

Until Alex pulls back and regards him seriously, cupping his jaw, and says in a breathless exhalation, “I want to fuck you.”

Henry’s heart skips a beat; something ignites deep within him as a million thoughts simultaneously enter his mind. Somehow, out of all of them, the one that comes out is, “You told me once that this isn’t about what you want.”

He tries not to cringe at his own idiocy. Thankfully, Alex just smirks in response. “Okay, how’s this? I think you want me to fuck you, too, but you’re too scared to ask for it.”

“I’m not _scared,”_ Henry mumbles. The way his heart is rapidly battering his ribcage suggests otherwise. Alex leans in close and presses their lips together, chaste and soft.

“But you do want me to?” Alex holds his gaze from up close. Henry exhales heavily, getting more and more lost in Alex’s eyes by the second. He thinks about saying it’s not a good idea. He thinks about saying he wants it _too_ much. He thinks about saying that kind of closeness is what makes him fall in love. He doesn’t say any of it; instead, he presses his cheek against Alex’s cheek and nods.

Alex doesn’t hesitate, just sweeps Henry into the most bruising kiss of his life. There’s a different kind of urgency in it, and Henry hears Alex’s words from lunch echoing in his ears: _Don’t worry, baby. I’m gonna take care of you._ God help him, Henry lets him.

Alex removes Henry’s clothes slowly, layering tender kisses on top of gentle brushes of fingertips over Henry’s newly exposed skin. Henry’s a quivering mess by the time Alex is done, arousal rippling down his spine over and over, pooling at the base. He’s always been putty in Alex’s hands, but there’s something different about this—it’s not like their usual power struggle, the give and take that’s inherent and omnipresent in their relationship. 

Alex takes Henry’s hands and pulls him to his feet, then reaches up and presses their lips together. In that moment, Henry’s not a reluctant prince with his escort, or a man overtaken by wanting for someone who’s paid to put up with it. It’s just them, Alex and Henry, stripped down to their cores and utterly burning for each other.

Alex leads Henry into the bedroom, hands linked warm and loose between them. He presses Henry into the mattress and trails his mouth all over Henry’s body. His newly slick fingers nudge Henry’s thighs apart and Henry opens up for him with shaky legs, terrified and vulnerable and hopeful and feverish all at once. 

“Have you done this before?” Alex murmurs, coming back up to eye level. He holds Henry’s gaze briefly before ducking to kiss along his jaw, up to his ear.

“Yes.” Henry grips the back of Alex’s head. Alex makes a soft noise in response, maybe confirmation, maybe surprise. He pulls back again to hover so close to Henry’s lips Henry swears he can already taste him.

Alex’s tongue licks into Henry’s mouth at the same time as his finger pushes into Henry’s body. Henry’s breath catches in his throat and Alex’s free hand comes up to cup his face gently, so gently. 

“I want you to feel so good, Henry,” Alex says, breathless. “Tell me what feels good.”

Henry nods, eyes squeezed closed, his breath coming quick and shallow. Alex fucks into him slowly, and Henry feels the tension seeping out of him, feels himself stretching open, feels his nerve endings starting to fire, little electrical pulses zinging through his body. 

He knows Alex has added a second finger when the stretch verges on discomfort. He holds steady with his hand fisted in Alex’s hair, breathes, waits for his body to get used to it. Alex slows his movements but doesn’t stop. When he’s ready, he rubs at the base of Alex’s skull, and Alex understands immediately. He speeds up, testing different angles and depths and pressure points, until pleasure spasms through Henry’s body and he cries out, hips jerking.

“There,” Henry manages to say, eyes blinking open. Alex’s eyes are trained on his face, no doubt watching every small tremble of his bottom lip or clench of his jaw, indexing it all in his overfull manual of how to make Henry lose his fucking mind. Alex thrusts his fingers up again and Henry gasps out, “Oh, Christ,” watches Alex’s mouth drop open and then spread into a soft smile.

“That’s good, sweetheart?” Alex starts fingering him hard and fast, each movement pointed and intentional. Henry’s moving with him, his body arching and hips snapping to meet Alex’s hand as pleasure shoots through his veins. 

“It’s good, it’s good, _fuck,”_ Henry says between staccato gasps. 

“God, it’s hot when you swear,” Alex says, laughing a little. Henry’s already flushed hot from the exertion and tension building in his body, but he feels the tips of his ears burn at Alex’s comment. He finds Alex’s lips with his because he doesn’t think he can bear to listen to him talk anymore. They kiss, tangled and open-mouthed; Henry pours moans into Alex, and Alex laps them up greedily. Henry’s entire body is tingling, _hungering._ He can feel the hunger in his bones.

Alex must sense it. He draws back, leaving Henry chasing his lips, allowing one more deep kiss as his hand slows. Then, he smiles at Henry, small but genuine, with gleaming eyes. Henry’s stomach squirms in anticipation.

“How do you feel?” Alex asks, his voice rough. 

“Good,” Henry replies immediately.

“Are you sure?”

“Alex, _please,”_ Henry groans, canting his hips up. Alex laughs, sitting back and reaching for the lube. Henry doesn’t take his eyes off Alex’s face as he slicks himself up, watches the way his eyelashes flutter against his cheek when he looks down, and feels longing like an ache stretching through his chest.

“It’s hot when you beg, too,” Alex says, meeting Henry’s eyes again. His gaze is dark and smoldering and Henry feels the weight of it through his entire body.

There’s a moment of silence between them, everything quiet save for their quickened breaths. By the end of it, something in Alex’s expression has shifted, softened.

“Are you ready, baby?” Alex leans in, nudges their noses together. If Henry’s not mistaken, there’s a slight tremor to his voice, something that betrays his nerves, despite his confident exterior. It melts Henry’s heart.

“Ready when you are, love,” Henry murmurs, the word slipping out in the rush of emotion overtaking him. He can’t even bring himself to be embarrassed about it—not when Alex is looking at him like he’s made of something precious. Like he’s something to be treasured.

Alex’s lips brush against his, and Henry hitches his legs up around Alex’s waist as he guides himself forward. He deepens the kiss, wanting as much of Alex as he can get, and Alex lets him, even as a choked sound escapes his mouth. Henry feels a burst of pride in his chest at the noise, raw and involuntarily, knowing it’s because of him. Alex stills deep inside him, and they kiss a moment longer before Alex draws back to look at him. 

Henry’s breath steals away at the sight of his face: the crease in his forehead, the swollen trembling of his parted lips, the vulnerability and awe in his eyes. He can see in his peripheral vision that Alex’s arms are shaking, braced on either side of his head. Henry brings his hands up to stroke Alex’s jaw, fingers sliding around the back of his neck, thumbs brushing across his cheekbones, trying to make Alex understand how much he wants this through his touch. Alex sucks in a shaky breath, then gives Henry a small, embarrassed smile. It makes Henry’s heart clench.

When Alex starts to move, Henry quickly loses himself in it, sinks into the connection he’s been dreaming about for months. It feels like Alex is reaching every part of him—parts that he’d long forgotten, locked up and abandoned, lighting up the dark, dusty recesses where his soul entwines with his body and breathing new life there. As Alex moves, Henry feels simultaneously more like himself, who he is at his core, and like an entirely new man, made whole with his other half fitting inside him, than he ever has.

He can’t stop watching Alex’s face; he looks wrecked, like he’s seconds away from falling to pieces. In all the pleasure Henry has given Alex, he’s never seen him look like _this._ Henry thrusts his hips to meet him, slides one hand down to palm at the back of Alex’s hip and urge him in deeper, and Alex moans, the sound sweet to Henry’s ear. Henry normally likes the array of curses and nicknames and supplications that escape Alex’s mouth during sex, but tonight he’s quieter, letting out helpless little noises and breathy groans. Each and every one feels sacred, working its way down Henry’s spine and adding to the growing pool of pleasure building in his groin.

Alex is moving faster and faster, his breath hitching. Henry’s body, tense and taut, is a lightning rod, sparks coursing through him with every strike. He digs his heels into Alex’s lower back, marveling at the obscene slapping noise from skin meeting skin, whimpering at the sensations of Alex filling him flooding out through his limbs. A bead of sweat drips down Alex’s nose and falls onto Henry’s upper lip; he flicks his tongue out to taste it. Alex watches, his eyes going wide, and he takes Henry’s mouth in a sloppy kiss. After a moment, his forehead drops to Henry’s shoulder, and Henry’s entire body quakes at the sensation of Alex pulsing inside him as he comes with a gasp and a stretched out groan. Henry slips his fingers into Alex’s hair and holds him through it, clenching around him and reveling in the feel of Alex’s warmth inside him.

“Fuck, Henry,” Alex mumbles into his collarbone. “I didn’t mean to—I—”

“Please shut up,” Henry says fondly, breathless and thrumming and so, so happy.

Alex pulls back to look at him, wonder and pleasure etched in every line of his face. Henry can’t believe he’s responsible for it. Alex opens his mouth, maybe to say something, but then shakes his head and kisses Henry deeply instead. It says everything.

“Do you trust me?” Alex says against Henry’s lips, then kisses Henry’s nose, then his cheek, then his jaw.

“Yes,” Henry says, laughing a little. Alex grins at him.

“Good.”

Alex wastes no time in crawling down Henry’s body, trailing his tongue over Henry’s chest and the shuddering muscles of his abdomen. It feels like a line of fuel igniting, a rush of heat striping over him. Alex’s hands fit under his thighs and push them up, and Henry groans as Alex bypasses his cock entirely and presses a sucking kiss to the tender crease where his thigh meets his arse. 

“Alex, what are you…”

“Trust me,” Alex breathes, hot against the skin of Henry’s balls. He pauses a moment, and Henry sits up on his elbows to get a better view of what he’s doing. An intense flush creeps up Henry’s neck as he realizes that Alex is just lying there _looking_ at him. Alex looks up suddenly to meet his eyes, tugging a lip between his teeth before saying, “God, you are stunning.” 

Before Henry can process his words, Alex’s fingers are circling Henry’s rim, collecting the lube and come he can feel leaking out of him. Henry drops back again, covering his face with his arm and moaning at how good it feels, how indecent it feels, how fucking turned on he is by Alex’s touch. Henry feels pressure, Alex’s fingers sliding inside him now, and his entire body spasms when Alex presses up against his prostate, swollen and sensitive from Alex’s cock stroking it moments ago.

“Fuck, fuck, Jesus _fucking_ Christ,” Henry pants into his arms. He hears a low chuckle before Alex does it again. This time, he doesn’t relent, rubbing and rubbing against that spot, and Henry’s hips are jerking uncontrollably as the pleasure verges on discomfort from oversensitivity, whimpers and squeaks escaping his open mouth between gasping breaths. When Alex’s fingers withdraw, though, Henry moans angstily, trying to shove himself back onto Alex’s hand.

“You’re so eager,” Alex says, his voice full of awe.

“I’m so _close,”_ Henry says, nearly hysterical from the intensity of pleasure interrupted _again_ by gaping nothingness. 

“I’ve got you,” Alex tells him, and his fingers, slick now, close around Henry’s aching, as-of-yet untouched cock. The burst of relief arches Henry’s back, clenches his fists, squeezes his eyes closed, and then he just about loses his mind entirely when he feels something wet and soft touch his wide open hole.

“What,” Henry chokes out, strangled, fisting the sheets next to him and looking down with wide eyes to see Alex eating his own come out of Henry’s arse. Henry cries out, helpless to the noises bursting out of him, as Alex licks his way forward and firmly presses his tongue inside him. His hand works Henry’s cock slowly, and his mouth forms suction around his hole, and Henry’s senses are completely overloaded by the pleasure assaulting him from all sides. 

It’s the dirtiest, most intensely erotic thing Henry’s ever experienced in his life. Alex’s tongue is slippery inside him, thrusting in and out and laving along the rim. Alex’s hand grips him tighter and moves faster, and it doesn’t take much longer before Henry is coming hard, so hard, pressure erupting up through his balls and out of his cock as heat crawls up his skin. The release of tension that accompanies it is unlike anything Henry has ever felt, and he’s left liquified, destroyed, completely done for. Alex works him through it, gives him one last long lick before kissing the inside of his trembling thigh, bringing it back down so that Henry’s lying flat on the bed. He wants to reach for Alex, but he can barely move. Alex’s hands are warm on his hips, then his biceps, as he makes his way back up Henry’s body.

“Baby,” Alex whispers. He sucks Henry’s earlobe between his lips, kisses down his neck. “God, you’re so sexy. You took it so well. You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. You’re fucking perfect.”

Henry whimpers again at Alex’s praise. He wants to respond, but he can’t bring himself to form words. Instead, he burrows his face into the crook of Alex’s neck and clutches at him weakly; Alex holds him back, just the way he needs. He falls asleep with Alex’s mouth pressed against his temple, somewhere between a kiss and a prayer.

“Are we actually allowed to do this, or are you just trying to get us arrested?” Alex whispers, looking up at Henry with his eyebrows raised. “Like a rich kid who shoplifts for attention kind of thing?” 

His curls are still damp from the shower Henry dragged him into when they woke up, confused and bleary-eyed, at midnight. Pale yellow light from the street lamp glows on his skin, highlighting his cheekbones. The extravagant towers of the cathedral loom in the background, but Henry can’t look away from Alex. He’s exquisite.

“I told you, it’s all been arranged,” Henry replies, placing a hand on Alex’s lower back. Alex shifts closer to him so their hips bump as they step up to the tall gates.

“Your Highness,” says a security guard in heavily accented English as he unlocks the gates. “It’s an honor to have you visit our beautiful cathedral.”

“I’m so grateful to you for accommodating us. Thank you.” Henry leads Alex forward, then looks up and abruptly stops. He hears Alex’s sharp intake of breath at his side.

The Nativity facade of the Sagrada Familia looms above them, intricate and vast. Henry’s seen it before, but it still makes his heart stop in his chest. When he looks over at Alex, though, he sees something even more reflected in his expression—something worshipful. Henry gets unreasonably excited over amazing architecture, could spend hours immersing himself in Gaudí’s plans and how they’ve come to life over the past 140 years, in what’s yet to come. But he can see, instantly, that this means something different to Alex—something deeply personal and spiritual. It’s a side he hasn’t seen in Alex before, and it makes his spine quiver.

They take their time examining the exterior. Alex’s fingers linger over the rough stone, his eyes cast up over ancient figures and symbols. Henry finds himself looking at Alex more than the architectural wonder in front of him, watching the fascination on his beautiful face as though it was designed and crafted in the same agonizing detail over as many years. 

When they cross the threshold, Alex stops and makes three tiny crosses over his forehead, mouth, and chest, murmuring, “Por la señal de la Santa Cruz, de nuestros enemigos líbranos, Señor, Dios nuestro, en el nombre del Padre y del hijo y del Espíritu Santo, Amen,” then makes the sign of the cross and bows his head. 

He steps forward, awash in the rainbow light reflecting through the stained glass windows from the bright lights outside. Henry steps up beside him, and together they explore the interior of the basilica, vast columns stretching to the ceiling like ancient trees in an enchanted forest. Alex takes his time; Henry follows his lead, occasionally pointing out interesting details or things he thinks Alex would like, punctuating the silence with rambling treatises about Gaudí’s philosophy, his aversion to straight lines, the inspiration he drew from nature. Alex listens carefully, nods, looks up quizzically at Henry’s random architectural jargon until he explains. When they’ve made their way all the way around, Alex stops Henry at the opposite door with a hand on Henry’s chest, over his heart. 

“Thank you,” he says softly, “for bringing me here.” His eyes are clear, warm, luminescent. Henry wants to lose himself in them, never to be found again.

“There’s one more thing to see,” Henry says. He places his hand over Alex’s on his chest and twines their fingers together, leading him over to a small elevator. The security guard who let them in is waiting for them there.

“Pa’ arriba?” Alex says with a grin. The guard laughs.

“Molt bé, señor,” he responds, gesturing them forward into the lift. Alex tugs Henry in, not releasing his hand, and up they go.

When they emerge, the whole of Barcelona is laid out before them. The lights of the city glitter under the dark sky, a reflection of the shimmering stars above. Alex goes right up to the edge of the small, circular platform at the top of the tower, looking out to the Mediterranean beyond. Henry steps up behind him, hovering on the edge of Alex’s space before making the decision to slip his arms around Alex’s waist. Alex leans back against him, hands coming to rest on Henry’s hands. Henry’s pulse quickens at the comfortable intimacy, the steadiness of Alex’s body pressed flush against his. The memory of Alex inside him that afternoon is fresh and rises easily to the surface, an ache and stretch still burning in his thighs. 

He loses track of how long they stay there, watching the city blink, listening to the sound of cars below and waves ahead. Henry buries his nose in Alex’s hair, closes his eyes, and breathes in his scent; Alex lets out a sigh that sounds like pure pleasure. Henry’s spent so much of his life trying to make himself small, quiet, unnoticed. To make himself disappear. Somehow, now, under the vast, endless sky, he wants to step into his body for the first time, to draw himself up to his full height, to be who he is, as he is, and no one else—because he wants to be the one experiencing this, here, with Alex in his arms.

Their flight leaves early, too early, the next morning. They didn’t make it back to the hotel until after three, tired but giddy from their late night excursion, and stayed up much later kissing and talking and kissing some more. Alex told Henry about his dad dragging him to mass every Sunday in a suit and tie, the bendiciones from his abuela, the beauty of the hymns, notes passed back and forth in the pew with June. Big family lunches after, love shared through second and third helpings until he was bursting, the noise and color of his family all around. Henry wanted to listen to him talk about it all night.

Henry shared, too, voice trembling, about being raised in the Church of England, the expectations, the stern sermons, the anger at being used as a prop in a pew for photo opportunities. The way his ancestors, his family, have used religion as a justification to murder and annihilate and destroy and then absolve themselves of their sins. The knowledge that he inherits that history and all that comes with it, feels the weight of it on his shoulders every day. And Alex didn’t lie and tell him that it was okay, or that it wasn’t his fault; he just listened and kissed his forehead and accepted it as a part of him.

Once they’re in the air, Henry reclines his seat. Alex is next to him, putting his AirPods in and fiddling on his phone. Henry lays back and closes his eyes, hoping to sleep. Before long, there’s a nudge at his shoulder and he opens them again to see Alex up close, climbing into his lap.

“Can I lay with you?” Alex whispers. Henry’s already making room for him to curl up into his side in the oversized chair. Alex offers him an earbud, and Henry takes it. “It’s my nap playlist,” Alex tells him, then rests his head on Henry’s shoulder and closes his eyes. Henry’s smile is involuntary and enormous. He’s too tired to even try to hide it.

The entire weekend feels like it must have been some kind of fever dream. Henry expects he’ll wake up at some point to find out the entire country has been watching and waiting as he clung to his deathbed, hallucinating a whirlwind weekend romance in Barcelona with his escort. It seems more realistic than the possibility that any of it could have been real.

The short flight passes slowly. Henry doesn’t sleep, just lays with his eyes closed, awash in Alex’s music, _I was only falling in love, I was only falling in love, I was only falling in love,_ and his breathing, deep and steady in slumber. Alex drools on his sweater. Henry feels as though he’s caught in some liminal space, floating through the atmosphere with only the steady beating of his heart tethering him to Earth. When the pilot crackles over the speaker that they’re beginning their descent into London, Alex jerks awake, nearly hitting Henry in the nose.

“Oh—oh, fuck, I’m sorry, babe—” Alex scrambles to wipe the drool up, grimacing. Henry’s heart swells.

“It’s fine,” he says, his voice rough. “Private airstrip and all that. I’m just going back to Kensington.” He hands Alex his earbud.

Alex settles back into his own chair and buckles himself in just before the flight attendant comes to check their cabin. When she’s gone, the reality of returning home starts to seep into Henry like snow melting through layers of skin. 

He wonders what Alex is thinking, if he’s eager to get away from him after nearly 48 hours together. Henry dwells on the thought over several minutes, growing more and more panicked every second, then blurts out, “It—erm—I know this has been a rather longer time with me than you’re accustomed to, so please do take tomorrow night off to compensate for it.”

Alex stares straight ahead, not looking at Henry. Henry swears he can see a muscle twitch in Alex’s jaw before he replies.

“You don’t want me to come?”

“I just don’t want you to feel...overworked,” Henry says, uneasy. The air around them has changed; it’s not comfortable.

“Right,” Alex says. His eyes flick over to Henry, then quickly away.

“So if you’d like the night off tomorrow, please do take it.”

“Okay. Your Highness.” Alex turns toward the window. Henry stares at him helplessly. He supposes the reality of coming home is hitting Alex, too, and he doesn’t have to act like he’s something he’s not anymore. The thought of it makes Henry ache.

The weekend was too good to be true. He knows it intellectually, but that doesn’t make it any easier to accept. It will always be just a job to Alex; he’s made that abundantly clear. It’s Henry who keeps getting in his own head with dreams and fantasies and _feelings,_ and no matter how much Alex encourages it, it’s Henry’s responsibility to keep himself in check.

He feels Alex’s eyes on him, now, but he steadfastly looks away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my dears Kenzi, Kathleen, and Len for helping me out with [Alex's nap playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/17nrg2P4yMacIq80uoERna?si=CnOSjkm6ReK_e73OTuvg3g). The song mentioned in the chapter is _Only_ by RY X.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love y'all. You know that right?! <3

Henry probably should have recognized it was getting to this point, but now it’s definitely too late. 

Alex starts coming over more often, for dinners, late night visits, and on weekends Henry’s home. He even shows up one random Tuesday afternoon with a bottle of champagne, a blanket, and an innocent smile. Henry asks the cooks to pack a basket of assorted cheeses and fruit, and he clears his schedule for the rest of the day. They find a secluded corner of the grounds. Alex stretches out with his head in Henry’s lap, reaching up to place tart berries between his lips, making fun of him for accidentally dribbling juice down his chin before brushing it away and sucking it off his thumb.

It turns out his spontaneous visit is the result of procrastination. Alex just moved into a new flat in Camden, and “I’m fucking sick of unpacking boxes only to find _more_ boxes behind them, like, they’re fucking multiplying,” he says with an eyeroll, but he’s grinning. “I don’t know how I accumulated so much shit already, but I feel like it’s your fault.”

“How could that possibly be my fault?” Henry says mildly, carding his fingers through Alex’s hair and rubbing his skull. Alex nuzzles into his touch.

“Because of all your stupid book recommendations. I had to get a new bookshelf and everything. And books are fucking heavy, you know.”

The conversation turns to places they’ve lived and places they’ve loved. Henry tells Alex about Llwynywermod, the utter peace that comes over him surrounded by massive, rolling green hills and quiet pastures full of sheep. Memories of his father chasing him and Bea and Philip around the gardens, his mother reading to him, curled up together on the rug in front of the fireplace at night. Alex raves about his family’s lakehouse in Texas for nearly fifteen minutes straight in such agonizing detail that Henry feels like he’s already been there, woken up to the smell of Alex’s dad cooking breakfast and fallen asleep to the sound of June’s fingers plucking at guitar strings. 

“Let’s go sometime,” Alex says. “I’ll take you to Texas, and you take me to...there.” He sits up suddenly, looks at Henry with bright eyes and kisses him with bubbles on his tongue, and Henry is lost in the overwhelming joy of it—so lost that he can ignore the clenching in his gut when Alex’s text message alert sounds multiple times, and he wonders if it’s Liam. He doesn’t ask; Alex doesn’t say.

Alex starts spending the night on increasingly frequent occasions, too. He falls asleep with his limbs wrapped around Henry’s body like a koala clinging to a eucalyptus tree. They have breakfast in bed and Henry learns what Alex smells like after a night of sweaty sleep, learns that he’s grumpy as fuck if he gets woken up before ten, learns that he likes his morning coffee with cinnamon and sugar. Learns that it’s a full body experience to see Alex’s hair sticking out in all directions as he blinks lazily at Henry from the next pillow with a gentle smile.

It’s like the trip to Barcelona broke open the dam, and now everything they weren’t supposed to be doing—everything Henry only fantasized about—floods out into technicolor reality. Alex is vibrant and pulsing and _alive,_ showing up in all his free time with a smirk and an insult and a smart remark, sending Henry messages that make him feel like his heart is cracking open and bleeding out on the palace floor.

Henry’s in so, so deep, no part of him left untouched. Every time Alex makes him come, he can feel it blooming in his chest, curling out like the tips of a vine seeking sunlight. Like a gust of wind that lifts him up on his toes. Alex still calls him Your Highness, but he says it playfully, full of cheek. He still does what Henry tells him to, except for when he doesn’t. He still waits for Henry’s permission to let himself go, but then he kisses Henry full and deep and tender, like he feels it, too.

Alex doesn’t feel it, Henry reminds himself—near-constantly at this point. _Alex doesn’t feel it._ Alex is just bloody good at his job. His job being the only reason he’s here in the first place, and the only reason he sticks around. Alex has known since the beginning that all Henry’s ever wanted is someone to fall in love with, someone to share his life with. And as much as Henry tried to stop it from getting this far, Alex is giving him exactly what he wants. 

Henry always feels tension in those small moments—when Alex is too busy to come by but doesn’t say why, or when Henry has to send Alex home to deal with some issue, sees the clench in Alex’s jaw as he listens to Henry explain. But overall, Henry’s living in a fantasy world right now, and he can’t bring himself to come back to reality.

At least it’s helping him fake his relationship with Nora for the press. Whenever he’s out with her, memories of Alex bring a lovesick smile to his face, and he can look at her while she slips her arm around his waist and feel the imprint of Alex’s hands on him, and it’s not even that hard.

“Mate,” Pez says firmly, “you don’t have to do this.”

They’re eating brunch at an outdoor cafe, enjoying a brief break in between days of rain. It’s still cloudy and cool, but Henry can feel the warmth on his face that indicates the sun is trying to break through. It feels good.

“I don’t see any alternatives,” Henry says, resigned. The date of the proposal has been set: August 21st, two short weeks away. Henry thought he would be experiencing more dread, but all he feels is the weight of inevitably pressing in on him constantly. It’s been almost a year since Shaan came to him about the arrangement, so he supposes he has actually had time to get used to the idea by now.

He thinks back to that day, the horror and the revulsion he experienced. He thinks about what his life would be like now, had he refused. He might not be nearing an engagement, but he wouldn’t have Alex, either, and the mere suggestion of that makes his heart drop straight into his stomach. It might be a fantasy he’s living, but the happiness he feels is very, very real. He can’t remember the last time he felt happiness like this.

“There’s always an alternative.” Pez cocks an eyebrow and takes a sip of his mimosa.

“I just—I can’t. Not now that we’ve come this far into it. Everything’s in motion already.” Henry feels like he’s being carried forward by some invisible force. Like it’s out of his control.

“This is your life, Haz. It’s not just this month or this year or this decade, even. It’s the rest of your bloody life.” Bile rises in Henry’s throat while Pez speaks.

“You think I don’t know that?” Henry doesn’t even try to keep the anger out of his voice. “You think I’m somehow unaware of what this has all been leading up to? Christ, Pez.”

“I’m sorry. You’re right. I know you’re fully aware. I just feel it’s my moral obligation as your best mate to remind you that there _is_ a choice.” Pez emphasizes the words. “You could leave. It might feel even more terrifying, because it’s completely unknown. But you deserve to be happy, and I think you could be. What they’ve done to you is not right.”

The memory of Henry's weekend in Barcelona with Alex floods through him, the pure bliss of being away with him. He imagines fleeing to some remote island in the Mediterranean, far from the cameras and the press and his grandmother, somewhere no one can find him and no one knows his name. Building a shack on the beach and waking up to the sound of the waves. Never putting on a suit and tie—or shoes, even—ever again. Passing the days reading and writing and exploring. The image is crystal clear—but he can only imagine it with Alex by his side. And Alex is here, in London, and staying. No matter what Henry does with his life.

“I can’t leave,” Henry whispers, heart tugging violently in his chest. He clears his throat, looking down. Pez reaches his hand across the table and covers Henry’s with it.

“Then you know I’ll be there with you every step of the way.”

—

**Alex**  
i've been thinking about your hands  
soft and elegant, hurried yet gentle  
they look like they’ve been kept in a glass case all your life  
but they feel so different  
there’s history, meaning, purpose in them  
all that they've done and all that they've touched and all that they’ve made

**Henry**  
Alex, are you drunk?

**Alex**  
maybe  
but who am i now, having been touched by you?

— 

“You seem quiet tonight.” Alex’s astute observation comes as no surprise, even though Henry thought he had been carrying on the conversation fairly well.

“I’ve some things on my mind.” Henry pushes his food around with his fork, then drops it on the plate. He’s barely been able to eat in days.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Alex is eyeing him; Henry steadfastly avoids meeting his gaze.

“Not really.”

“Shocking,” Alex scoffs. Henry does look at him, then, with a glare, but before he can say anything, Alex continues, “You always try as hard as you can to keep everyone out. You’d rather suffer in silence for the rest of your goddamn life than admit that you need someone. It’s infuriating.”

Henry’s mouth drops open. “I’ve whinged enough about this. There’s no point in continuing to complain about something I can’t change.”

“What is it this time? Another fancy charity function? A photo op you don’t want to smile for?” Alex sounds disgusted; it’s making Henry ache. Is that really all he thinks about him after everything?

Henry pauses for a long minute before answering. “I’m proposing tomorrow, Alex. To Nora. Forgive me if I’m feeling a bit hopeless.”

Alex goes quiet at that. Henry raises his eyebrows, waiting. He’s surprised, when Alex speaks again, that his voice is shaky.

“Already? I thought you had gotten it all pushed back.”

“We did, as much as possible. I’m afraid I’ve reached the end of the line. Gran won’t tolerate it anymore. We’ll be married next summer.”

It’s Alex who won’t meet Henry’s eyes, now. His face actually looks slightly ashen. Henry reaches out his hand.

“Alex—”

“I’m finished. Can we go to your room?” Alex interrupts him, standing abruptly. Henry follows silently, and they make their way upstairs. His head is spinning; why is Alex reacting this way? He’s known this was coming for months.

Once they’re safe in the confines of Henry’s bedroom, Alex rounds on him. “Don’t do it.”

Henry sighs heavily. “I know. Pez and Bea have been through it with me again and again. I just can’t see another way.” 

“Henry.” Alex grips his shoulders, digging in so hard that Henry’s already visualizing the fingerprint bruises he’ll find tomorrow. “You don’t understand what I’m saying. I’m not telling you not to do it because of how you feel about it. I’m telling you not to because of how _I_ feel about it.”

“What do you mean?” Henry’s mind is whirling, trying to parse the meaning of Alex’s words, but all he can come up with is that he’s afraid of losing his job. “Nothing’s going to change with us. You don’t need to worry about that.”

Alex lets out a frustrated roar. Henry blinks. 

“What if I want things to change?”

“What? You—you don’t want to see me anymore once I’m engaged?” The thought hadn’t even occurred to Henry. His throat is working, something searing in his chest.

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Then what is it?”

“You really don’t know?”

Henry wracks his brain, desperately trying to come up with whatever would have Alex’s fingers forming craters in his flesh and Alex’s eyes burning holes into him. “I really, really don’t. Please enlighten me.”

Alex’s breathing is coming quicker and shallower every second. Finally, with a look of total determination, he says, half-yelling, “I want things to change because I’m in _love_ with you, you complete dumbass, and I don’t want you to be with anyone except me. Ever again.” 

Alex’s face is strangely bare and vulnerable, utterly sincere, stripped clean of all his trademark mischief. Henry’s head is spinning and spinning, making him dizzy. His mouth has gone dry and his heart is in his throat and his hands are shaking at his sides.

_What did Alex just say?_

Alex groans, long and loud. “Did you hear me? I love you, you stupid bastard. I thought that no matter what, at least I could still have you like this, the way we are now. I thought we could be happy. But it’s not enough. I don’t want you to propose to Nora. I don’t want you to give yourself up to this life. Don’t fucking do it. _Please.”_

Alex’s hands slacken and slide up Henry’s face, cupping his jaw. Henry’s dizziness turns to nausea as he tries to process what he’s hearing.

“But—you have...a boyfriend.” Henry can barely get the words out. His heart is pounding so loudly in his ears, he almost doesn’t hear Alex’s response.

“ _Liam?_ We broke up _weeks_ ago.” He looks like he wants to rip Henry’s head off.

_“When?”_ Henry cries. 

Alex bites his lip, gazing up at Henry with something akin to guilt in his eyes. “Do you remember that night I showed up at the palace? When I was kind of a mess...before Barcelona?” Henry just stares at him with his mouth dropped open. “I came from Liam’s apartment. I just couldn’t...do it with him anymore. Because he wasn’t fucking _you.”_

“But you said...this is just a job. A transaction,” Henry says faintly. The word still makes him want to die. “Every time I started to think that the way you looked at me or the way you touched me or the way you talked to me meant something, I remembered that night and all the things you said. I couldn’t stop remembering it.”

Alex swallows. “It _was_ that, at first. Or I wanted it to be. I swear to God, when I said that, I was trying to convince myself even more than you. It took me fucking forever to even _admit_ it to myself. I’ve never come close to falling for a client, I thought I could keep things separate. But everything with you _got_ to me so fucking much. I didn’t understand why. The way you see things is so fucking different than anyone I’ve ever met, especially in a position like yours. And that night I broke up with Liam...I couldn’t even think about doing anything but going straight to you after, and you made me feel like you’d drop _everything_ to be there for me. Like all you wanted was to give me what I needed.” 

Alex’s eyes on Henry are intense, locking him in; Henry can barely keep up with what he’s saying. Alex takes a deep breath before continuing. “It made me realize that all I've wanted this whole time was to be that person for you, too. I want to be the one holding you while you fall asleep watching Bake Off when you're sad. I want to be the one who helps you harness all that fucking _power_ you have inside of you that you don’t let anyone else see. And once I thought about it, I realized I’ve been falling in love with you every fucking day since that first dinner together when we argued about Harry Potter and you kicked my ass out.” Alex grins at him.

“Jesus Christ,” Henry whispers. He remembers Alex’s eyes that night he showed up at the palace, how deadened they looked and how they slowly came back to life as Henry held him in his arms. He remembers the spark in his gut as those same eyes glinted at him across the table in the formal dining room so many months ago. He reaches out and clutches Alex’s hips without thinking, pulling him close. Alex melts into his touch like he’s been waiting for it. 

“I can’t shut my brain off,” Alex says quietly. “It’s running constantly, lists and plans and _anxiety,_ so much fucking anxiety. It always feels like I’m never doing enough, like everything is just too big, too overwhelming. But when I’m with you, it’s different. I know that I can turn it off and you’ll tell me what to do and it’ll be exactly what I need. There’s no one on this fucking earth that makes me quiet like you do.” Alex’s hands run up Henry’s arms; the physical sensation of it is the only thing keeping Henry present right now.

“Alex...why didn’t you say something _sooner?”_ Henry can hear the desperation in his own voice.

“I didn’t think I could.” Alex cups Henry’s jaw, his thumbs rubbing over Henry’s cheeks. Henry’s chest is filling up with something unfamiliar, wonder, disbelief… _hope._ It’s terrifying. “I knew you weren’t allowed to be in a real relationship. I was so fucking scared it would ruin everything, and that would be it for us. Like I'd say something, and then all of a sudden I'd never be allowed to fucking _see_ you again. I thought, at least as your escort, we could still be together, even if it would never mean the same thing. But it’s not enough. I want _all_ of you. I can’t watch you marry someone else, Henry, _please_ don’t fucking do it.”

Every single thing Henry thought he knew has flown out the window, and he’s slowly letting the pieces back in that make up the truth. Alex loves him. Alex wants him—all of him. It’s too much.

“Alex,” Henry says, as weakly as he feels. Alex guides him over to the bed until the backs of his legs run into it, and he leans back heavily, grateful for the additional support. “I don’t know how to stop what’s already in motion. There’s a fucking press release written. Photographers booked...it’s all been arranged.”

“We can make a new arrangement,” Alex argues. Henry’s heart is clamped in his chest. “I know it feels impossible, but we can figure it out.”

Henry closes his eyes, then feels Alex’s forehead press against his. 

Alex adds, “I know you love me too. I know it, Henry.”

Henry grasps desperately at the last shreds of his control, but it’s too much. It’s everything he told himself he could never have, everything that seemed like it would only ever happen in the deepest of Henry’s dreams, the ones he can barely remember wisps of once he wakes up.

“Of course I love you,” he says hoarsely. “I’ve loved you all along. I just never thought you would love me back.”

“I’m head over fucking heels for you, sweetheart. And I’m so sorry it took me so long to tell you.”

Alex’s mouth finds his, and Henry’s grateful for the familiar physical contact, the grounding steadiness of Alex’s lips, his one constant over the past year among the total upheaval of his entire life. Warmth spreads through his body, helping to calm his shaking limbs a little. Alex holds him and kisses him and it’s the only thing that keeps Henry from completely unraveling, from spinning out into space.

Henry lets Alex push him back onto the bed. They kiss and kiss and kiss, yet it all passes by in an instant. Alex’s words echo in his head. It feels too impossible, too big for Henry to take on. He doesn’t know if he’s strong enough, but Alex kisses him like they’re in it together. Like he doesn’t have to do this alone anymore. 

Henry thinks having sex with Alex knowing Alex loves him should feel different. But Alex still has the same gentle tenderness in his eyes as he guides himself inside, still sweeps his hand into Henry’s hair like it’s spun silk, still kisses Henry with a mouth full of longing. He still drips curses and praises onto Henry’s lips, still moans into Henry’s ear like Henry lights him up from the inside out. The only difference is the reverent, whispered mantra as Alex comes inside him: _I love you, I love you, I love you._ And Henry realizes that Alex has been telling him all along.

It hits him deep in his chest and starts to spread, slow and seeping like an ink stain, until Henry is covered in it. Made of it.

“I love you,” he whispers back, broken and wanting, overwhelmed by need.

Alex kisses him, rising up to meet it.

Alex is beautiful bathed in the grayish-blue early morning light.

Henry looks and looks, memorizing every curve, dip, and hollow. Tracing the line of his jaw up to the shell of his ear, the dark flush of curled eyelashes against his cheek, the smoothness of his forehead, relaxed in sleep. Henry wants to remember this forever, to keep it for himself, just in case.

Alex stirs in his arms, blinking awake and smiling up at him. Henry’s stomach twists so hard he thinks he might throw up.

“Good morning,” Alex murmurs, voice rough with sleep.

“Good morning,” Henry whispers in reply, trying to ignore the painful throbbing in his chest. “Love, I’m afraid I need to go, and so do you.”

Alex jerks up into a sitting position, his eyes suddenly wild. “Henry. No. You can’t do this.”

“It’s my birthright,” Henry says, his voice breaking. He has to stay strong. “I have to. I don’t have a choice.”

“There’s always a choice,” Alex tells him, glimmering with fury. “Always.”

“Then I’ve made mine,” Henry whispers. Alex’s jaw drops open, and Henry turns his head. He can’t bear to look at him.

“You don’t have to do this. For fuck’s sake, Henry, you’re _miserable_ here. This isn’t you. You could be so much more. _We_ could be. Please don’t do this. Not now. Jesus, Henry, look at me.” Henry drags his gaze back up to find Alex’s eyes are wet. “Don’t do this to yourself. You deserve to be happy.”

“I understand if you don’t want to—see me anymore,” Henry says, choking up. “This isn’t what you signed up for.”

“Fuck you,” Alex whispers furiously. Somehow, Henry feels himself start to disconnect from the pain shooting through his body; he knows it’s there, but it’s almost like it’s happening to someone else.

“I have to go.”

“Don’t do this.” Alex grips his wrist, vicelike. Henry pries his fingers off.

“You don’t have to decide right now. We can talk later.” 

Alex’s hands find his shoulders, clutch at his face, forcing his gaze forward. “Henry.”

Henry looks at him, helpless. “I’m not strong enough, Alex,” he whispers, hands sliding up Alex’s arms to encircle his wrists. “I’m not like you. I can’t stop this.”

“You’ve always thought you don’t deserve anything good, but Henry, you _do._ The same as everyone else on this earth. You don’t have to change for them. Please. Don’t do this to me. I don’t know if I can stand it.” Alex moves forward and kisses him, rough and desperate. Henry can feel every emotion Alex is experiencing pouring into him, and it’s too much. He jerks himself back. “Henry. I fucking _love_ you.”

Henry straightens up, pulls Alex’s hands down off of him. He tries to collect himself, reaching for all his training, all his practice, all the years that he’s been preparing for this moment. The moment when he finally becomes the man he’s supposed to be and fulfills his duty to his family and his country.

“I’ll walk you out.”

Alex’s eyes flash, wet and angry. “Don’t bother.”

Henry watches Alex get up out of the bed, pull his clothes on, stride toward the door. There’s a hole opening up inside him, clawing at his insides. Out of all the times he’s told Alex to leave, he’s never been so desperate to call him back. _If he looks,_ Henry thinks, _I’ll do it. One look. He always looks._

Alex slams the door shut behind him without a backwards glance.

It’s enough, knowing that he had this for the time that he did. Knowing that Alex loved him, even if it will soon be in past tense.

It has to be.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We made it! 
> 
> I'm gonna save my rambling for the end. Enjoy the final chapter and epilogue. <3

“I think I’m going to throw up,” Henry mutters, tugging at his collar. He feels hot, so hot, sweat wetting his temples, prickling its way down his neck, collecting on his lower back. Nora looks at him, concerned.

“Please do it over there. This dress cost more than I’m willing to admit. Even to a prince.”

“How are you so calm?” Henry stares back at her, dumbstruck. Nora just smiles.

“I have to be. If I let one tiny pebble of doubt creep in, I won’t go through with it.”

“I think I might have moved past the pebble. I might be at, possibly, the boulder of doubt.” Henry chews his lip, beyond caring what it looks like in the photos. They’ll just edit the hell out of them anyway.

“Oh, Henry.” Nora looks like she wants to say something else, but she doesn’t. Henry wasn’t planning to tell her, but all of a sudden it _hits_ him, and he can’t hold it in for another second.

“Alex told me not to go through with it.” Nora’s eyes widen. Henry rushes on before she can respond, “Because he’s in love with me.”

“Holy shit, Henry,” Nora hisses. “Jesus fuck. Christ’s tits. What—what did you say?”

“What the fuck could I say? I told him I loved him too, and we spent the night together, and I made him leave this morning, and I’ve been on the verge of vomiting ever since.”

Nora opens her mouth, but at just that moment, they’re interrupted by Shaan.

“Your Highness. My Lady. Everything is set, if you’re ready.”

Nora looks to Henry, deferring. He can feel a tightening sensation in his eyes, the threat of tears. He swallows once, twice. Straightens his spine, every vertebra in place, just like he was taught. Blinks until he doesn’t need to anymore. Unclenches his fists and pushes out his jaw, feeling the stretch in his neck.

“I’m ready. Nora?”

She nods once. Shaan leads them over to the area staged for the proposal in front of Queen Mary’s Rose Garden. Everything is posed for the most attractive background, the best lighting, the proper royal significance. The romance of it is entirely artificial and manufactured; it’s the complete opposite of how Henry would want to propose to someone. The photographer arranges him and Nora so they’re facing each other, hands clasped between them. The ring in Henry’s pocket is tiny, but he can feel its weight like a lump of coal.

Nora looks up at him, and he drags his gaze down to meet her eyes, and suddenly he can see it there. The question. 

The pebble.

It strikes him hard, right in his gut. Nora, who’s never shaken; the most confident, self-assured person he’s ever met; the one who views everything in terms of logic and reason and what makes sense. She’s doubting it, too. 

It pushes Henry over the edge. 

He shakes his head slightly, almost imperceptibly, but Nora sees it. Her face breaks out into an enormous smile, and she nods. And just like that, Henry feels the air around them change. An unbelievable lightness comes over him.

“I have to go,” he tells her.

“Get the fuck out of here,” Nora says, still grinning, and Henry feels the corners of his mouth turn up, too. “Go!”

Without hesitating, Henry turns and runs.

Camden Town curves around the north end of the Regents’ Park. Henry runs all the way there, ignoring the shouts from staff at his back. He runs even with his new leather dress shoes rubbing uncomfortably at his toes and his suit jacket weighing him down. By the time he gets to the other edge of the park, he’s drenched in sweat and his chest is searing. 

He pulls out his phone, double checking Alex’s new address before sprinting off again. He turns a corner and crashes straight into a magazine stand; dozens of magazines bearing his and Nora’s fake smiles on the cover fall to the ground in haphazard piles. Henry sees the stand attendant’s mouth drop open when she realizes who’s responsible for it, hears a high-pitched squeal, but he’s already running again, ignoring the stares and murmurs of everyone on the streets, the phones coming up all around him.

When he reaches the red door marking the entrance to Alex’s building, it looms over him, large and imposing. He presses the button once and, upon a total lack of reply, presses it again, wishing he could convey the urgency he feels in the sound reverberating through Alex’s flat. Finally, the door clicks open.

Henry takes the stairs two at a time and arrives, panting, on the second floor. There’s another solid wood door to his left; he pounds on it as hard as he can.

When he opens it, Alex is beautiful, even in misery. His face is splotchy, his eyes red-rimmed and glazed over. Henry wants to scoop him up in his arms and never let him go.

“Alex,” he says, cautious, instead.

“What do you want?” Alex replies flatly. “Come to tell me the good news? Congratulations. I’ll have some fucking flowers sent to the palace.”

Henry hears a door open somewhere above them. “Can I come in?”

“No.”

“Alex, please—”

“You’re not giving me orders anymore,” Alex says, his voice taking on a hysterical tinge. “I don’t have to do what you say.” The distant sound of a heavy lock clicking into place sets Henry in motion. Someone could be coming down the stairs any second.

“I couldn’t do it,” Henry bursts out. “I was there, dressed, and Nora was there, all made up, and everything was set up like it was supposed to be, and the photographers were waiting, and Nora and I looked at each other, and I just shook my head at her, and she told me to go. And I just...ran. I literally fucking ran away, and ran all the way here.” 

Alex gapes at him.

“Alex,” Henry continues, voice trembling, “I am half agony, half hope. Please, _please,_ can I come in?”

Alex steps back wordlessly just as footsteps clatter down the stairs, and Henry practically leaps inside, slamming the door behind him before anyone spots him.

He’s momentarily distracted, being inside Alex’s flat. He knows with the amount of money Alex has been making, he easily could have gotten a place in a high-rise with brand new fixtures, or bought a rowhouse and refurbished it to his liking. Instead, Alex’s flat is small, old, and comfortable. A squashy-looking couch is the focal part of the living space, a lacrosse stick leaning up against the corner, a massive bookcase taking up the better part of one wall, crammed to the hilt with books. There’s a pile of tissues on the floor, and he suddenly notices Alex is looking at him warily.

“I want you,” Henry says, terrified that this, right now, is his only chance to set things right. “All of you. Alex, I’ve been falling in love with you since the day I met you. I was scared and an idiot, you know I’ve been an idiot this entire bloody time, and I felt like I was being carried forward on a conveyer belt with no way to slow it down, but I realized, standing there, with a diamond fucking ring in my pocket, that you’d been telling me all I needed to do was jump off, and you’d be there to catch me. I...I want to jump.”

“You do?” Alex’s voice is small and Henry can hear that he’s not getting his hopes up. He hasn’t given Alex any reason to believe him. Henry strides forward.

“I’ll abdicate. I’ll call Shaan right now to figure out the legalities and the processes, and—fuck. I don’t want this—” Henry pulls the engagement ring out of his pocket and throws it on the floor, taking Alex’s hands instead. “I don’t want any of it. Why am I giving up the only thing that’s made me feel like I’m a living, breathing person for the first time? I don’t want to be their puppet anymore. I want to be with _you.”_

“Henry,” Alex breathes, squeezing Henry’s hands. “Do you know what you’re fucking saying?”

“I don’t know how we’ll get away from—from everything, but you said—you said we could figure it out. Will you still help me figure it out?”

There’s a moment of tense silence, a moment of terror and uncertainty. Henry’s heart is in his throat, threatening to spill out of him any second. He looks at Alex’s face—chiseled and beautiful as ever—but he sees so much more, now. He sees a man who knows him inside and out, who took the time and effort to understand him at his core. A man who’s brave and selfless and smart and cares more than anyone Henry’s ever met. A man who helped him find the courage to know that he’s enough. 

More than a man. Henry looks at Alex, and he sees his destiny. 

All of a sudden, Alex quite literally jumps into Henry’s arms, wrapping his legs around Henry’s waist and clutching at his shoulders. It’s all Henry can do to hang on, a breathless laugh bubbling up and escaping him as he staggers back against the wall, trying to keep his balance. His hands come under Alex’s thighs, holding him tight, and Alex presses small kisses all over his face in between a choked out _yes, yes, yes._ And Henry’s laughing and crying because he loves Alex, and Alex loves him, and he has no idea how, but they’re going to figure it out. Together.


	17. Epilogue

**~ Six Months Later ~**

“It smells so good, love,” Henry moans from the kitchen table. “Please tell me it’ll be ready soon.”

“Patience is a virtue,” Alex says, grinning at Henry through a mouthful of freshly fried tortillas.

“You’re eating already,” Henry grumbles. 

“Just to make sure it’s fit for a prince.” They both laugh, at that; Henry hasn’t been a prince for months now. 

Henry watches as Alex turns back to the stovetop, humming to himself. The warm breeze floats through the window and sinks into Henry’s skin, a humid, heavy weight. It’s nothing like the hot, stifling rooms of the palace; this is the kind of heat that begs you to strip your clothes off and dive into a cool lake, to spend the day relaxing on the dock with a cold beer, condensation dripping between your fingers.

When Alex had suggested hiding out at his family’s lakehouse in Texas after Henry made his announcement, he had balked at first. They needed to work and earn money, Henry argued. How else were they going to survive? Alex wore him down with detailed spreadsheets demonstrating that life didn’t have to be as expensive as Henry was used to, with promises that no one would find them. Promises that they could spend some time together, just the two of them, figuring out what they really wanted from life and what they could _do_ with it. That they had plenty of money for now, and their worth did not lie in their productivity.

It took three months for Henry to stop looking over his shoulder constantly, waiting for the flash of the camera or his family’s disapproving glares. It took another three months for him to stop questioning whether he had any value as a person without his royal pedigree. Just now is Henry starting to truly feel a lifetime’s worth of tension draining out of his limbs, a lifetime’s worth of expectations falling off his shoulders, a lifetime’s worth of shame about who he is dissipating from his core.

Alex says it’s going to take a lot more therapy for him to deal with that, but that’s okay. He’s got time.

Alex and Henry are spending their days swimming and reading, cooking and eating. Arguing over the best installment of Harry Potter and whether sweet potato fries count as a vegetable serving. Dreaming up what they want from life and how they can make a difference. They don’t entirely know, yet, but trying to figure it out is making Henry feel hopeful and excited for the first time in his life.

“What time is everyone getting here?” Henry says, sneaking up beside Alex and grabbing a crispy tortilla strip from the plate next to the stove. Alex slaps his wrist.

“Around one, I think. And be _patient.”_

“I’m the one who gives orders around here,” Henry growls, wrapping an arm around Alex’s waist and pulling him in flush. Alex’s mouth drops open, the wooden spoon in his hand falling from his fingers into the frying pan. “Don’t make me redden that sweet little arse of yours before our guests arrive.”

“Don’t make me...make you,” Alex says weakly as Henry slips his thigh between Alex’s legs and presses up into him. Alex grinds down, and Henry laughs.

“You’re cute when you want a spanking.”

“You’re cute all the fucking time,” Alex says before pushing his hands into Henry’s hair and tugging him down for a heated kiss. 

“The food’s going to burn,” Henry murmurs against his lips after a minute.

“I’m pretty full from all the taste testing anyway,” Alex says with a smirk. Henry’s mouth drops open in mock outrage, and he gives Alex a firm swat on the arse. “Okay, okay. Sit your ass down, sweetheart.”

Henry’s rewarded for his good behavior with a plate full of migas and spicy black beans. His mouth is watering.

“Buen provecho,” Alex says with a grin as he sits across from him. “And you’re welcome.”

“Yes, yes, thank you for introducing me to the joys of what breakfast can be.” Henry grins back and clasps Alex’s hand across the table, unbearably content.

June, Nora, Pez, and Bea arrive in a whirlwind of thumping bass and high-pitched squeals—most of which originate from Pez. Alex and Henry welcome them with hugs and Shiners, and everyone races down to the dock, dropping their clothes and jumping into the lake with David hot on their heels. Henry loves every day, hour, _minute_ he gets to spend alone with Alex, but he’s unbelievably excited for a whole week with their favorite people.

June and Alex kick everyone out of the kitchen to make dinner; the rest of them lounge on the porch, tipsy and sunburnt and giggly. At some point, Pez shoots Henry a grin and says, “You look good out here, mate.”

Henry lets that sink in. “I feel good,” he says slowly. “I haven’t been able to say that for a long time. Since before Dad got sick, certainly. But I do.”

“Any big plans on the horizon?”

“Not really. We’ve discussed going back to school...I could pursue a graduate degree in writing, or something of the sort. Shaan has let me know I’ve had multiple offers from publishers to write a memoir, but I’m not quite up for anything like that at the moment.” Henry swallows. Bea reaches her hand out for his, and he takes it gratefully. “Alex has some interest in law school, to be able to represent sex workers in legal trouble, and try to create legal precedent to ensure better conditions for sex work in general. But for now, we’re quite content to continue living off our savings and just...be together.” Henry smiles to himself. “Alex always says rest is a form of resistance, anyway.”

“You know the two of you always have work at the Okonjo Foundation, if you want it. Until you figure out what’s next.” Pez’s expression is utterly sincere, and Henry is suddenly overcome with gratitude for him.

“Thank you, Pez. You’re...an incredible friend. I don’t know how I’d have gotten through all this without you.”

“It’s my pleasure, and you know it.” 

Bea looks between Henry and Nora, half-dreamy, half-serious, and says, “Any regrets?”

Henry and Nora’s eyes meet; their silent communication is just as good as it always was. Nora’s lips curve into a grin.

“My biggest concern was my grandfather dying of a heart attack when he heard the news, and that didn’t happen, so I’m good,” she says.

“I almost had one myself when I found out your secret lover was Alex’s bloody sister,” Henry interjects to a chorus of laughter.

“Life works in mysterious ways,” Nora says serenely. “What about you, H? Regrets?”

Henry takes a pause, considering. He looks back at Bea. “I worry about you, and mum. Sometimes I think I’ve been terribly selfish. Like I’ve let down not just my family, but my entire country. But even with all that...there is no part of me that could ever regret this. Alex is everything I’ve ever wanted. It’s still hard to believe I get to have him.”

Alex’s head pops out the door at just that moment, and he calls, “Dinner in five, bitches!”

Everyone bursts into laughter again.

Much later, when everyone’s gone to sleep, Henry climbs into bed next to Alex, his heart crumpling in his chest at the sight of his curls spread out over the pillow, his sleepy, blinking eyes looking up at Henry in the dim light. Alex pulls him down at once, burrowing into his chest and wrapping a strong arm around his waist. He kisses Henry’s bare chest, soft and open-mouthed.

“Alex,” Henry murmurs against his cheek. Alex pulls back to look at him. “Do you have any regrets? About leaving your work permanently and doing this with me?”

“Who said I’m leaving my work permanently?” Alex grins cheekily at him, and Henry pinches his hip in response. “Babe, where’s this coming from?”

“Can you just answer the question, please?” Henry pleads.

Alex’s face goes pensive, searching Henry’s. After a moment, he says, “I never thought I’d be in sex work forever. I might have retired a little sooner than I expected, but I know what you gave up to be with me, and I know how unfair it would be to want you all to myself and not expect you to want the same. I feel like I’m still...learning, every day, exactly what it means for you to have done what you did. For us to have done what _we_ did.” 

Alex pauses; Henry can tell he’s figuring out how to say exactly what he wants to say. It’s something he's picked up from Henry. 

He continues, “It’s hard to know where to go from here. I know you feel that, too. But I have zero regrets about everything happening exactly the way it did. Because if I hadn’t retired, I wouldn’t be thinking of ways I can make an even bigger difference, now. And most of all, I know that having you by my side, slowing me down, pushing me to be thoughtful, and loving me unconditionally for exactly who I am is the most important thing I’ll ever have.”

Henry stares at him, speechless. Even after all this time—after _everything_ —he still can’t believe the way Alex talks about him. The way Alex loves him.

“Also, you’re really fucking hot. I had to lock that shit down before you came out publicly and all the thirsty gays went after you,” Alex adds, then ducks his face back into Henry’s chest to escape any blows.

“You absolute git,” Henry says, smiling from ear to ear. “You complete, utter wanker.”

“You love me,” Alex says, muffled, against his skin.

“I do,” Henry tells him, and he tightens his grip around Alex’s shoulders, reveling in the pure pleasure of it. “I do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please allow me to get a little bit sappy for a minute. This was the first time, in so many years of writing fic, that I have ever posted a multichap, and it was at once scary, exciting, and in the end, one of the best and most joyful fic experiences I've ever had. I'm so grateful to all of you who have been on this journey since the beginning and to those who have joined in along the way. There were some ups and downs but overall I felt nothing but overwhelming love and support and excitement and I truly cannot describe how much that has meant to me. Being able to engage with you all and seeing you engage with each other has just been so freaking cool, like there is not a word to describe how cool it has been. I love this community! Thank you to everyone who read, commented, yelled at me or each other across multiple platforms, and in any way took part in this fic as it unfolded. I see you and I appreciate you and you have managed to turn 2020 into a bright spot for me, which is frankly a freaking miracle. <3
> 
> Want to cleanse your palate from this angstfest with a fluffy, smutty firstprince slowburn? Check out the other fic I'm currently posting, [the poem you make of me](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26775202/chapters/65316223)!
> 
> Want to chat with other RWRB fans? Join the [RWRB: A Gray Area](https://discord.gg/25DZeU9) discord!
> 
> Love to you all. <3

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are amazing! I'm on [tumblr](https://omgcmere.tumblr.com/) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/cmere), come say hi!


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